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CONSEQUENCES 


BY 

EGERTON    CASTLE 

AUTHOR    or 

"the  pride  of  jennico,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
STREET  &  SMITH,  Publishers 

238  William  Street 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Confess  in  the  year  1900 

By  Street  &  Smith 

In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


SBLfl 


J^cH'>'iS>7c6 


CONSEQUENCES. 


PART  I. 
GEORGE   KERR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW  GEORGE  KERR .  REPENTED  AT  LEISURE. 

Popular  proverbs — those  short  statements  of  long  experience 
— must,  from  their  very  essence,  be  various  and  even  contra- 
dictory on  almost  every  question. 

Concerning  marriage  especially — that  most  solemn,  uncer- 
tain, and  fatal  of  human  engagements — do  they  wax  numer- 
ous and  conflicting,  even  as  are  the  consequences  of  a  bid  at 
the  eternal  lottery. 

"Happy  the  wooing  that's  not  a  long  a-doing,"  is  an  accept- 
able maxim,  and  a  wise,  in  the  estimation  at  least  of  young 
and  ardent  love.  It  fits  admirably  with  other  well-known 
emotional  prognostications  anent  the  risky  undertaking: 
"Happy  is  the  bride  the  sun  shines  on,"  and  such-like.  Alas 
that  its  natural  cross,  "Marry  in  haste  and  repent  at  leisure," 
should  ever  prove  equally  opposite ! 

People  who  plunge  headlong  into  very  early  matrimony 
have,  as  a  rule,  ample  opportunity  to  test  the  pithiness  of  both 
proverbs. 

Rapturous  always  their  first  impressions;  but,  in  a  little 
while,  the  inevitable  sobering  process  once  fairly  started — 
with  the  whole  of  a  life  stretching  drearily  before  them  a 
lengthy  series  of  wasted  capabilities — grim  their  reflections  on 
the  endless  consequences  of  one  imprudent  step ! 

The  various  aspects  of  leisurely  repentance  formed  in  the 
year  1857  a  main  theme  in  the  mental  existence  of  Mr.  George 
Kerr,  who  was  then  aged  twenty-three. 


6     How  George  Kerr  Repented  at  Leisure. 

Arrived  at  the  green  door  of  his  little  hoiise  in  Mayf air,  he 
paused  a  moment  in  disheartened  and  bitter  cogitation.  No 
doubt  she  was  lying  in  wait  for  him  up-stairs,  preparing  a 
scene  in  pimishment  for  their  last  quarrel.  .  .  .  No  peace 
for  him,  night  or  day !  Was  it  astonishing  that  he  was  sick — 
sick  to  death — of  all  this  ? 

He  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  and  let  himself  in  with  a 
muttered  curse  on  his  unhappy  home.  Contrary  to  orders, 
when  all  had  retired  except  himself,  the  lights  were  still  blaz- 
ing in  the  hall ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  lamp  had  burned  itself 
out  in  his  smoking-room,  and  filled  it  with  nauseating  dark- 
ness. His  savage  pull  at  the  bell  brought  the  sleepy  footman 
tumbling  up-stairs  before  his  eyes  were  well  opened. 

"Why  are  you  not  in  bed — ^why  is  there  a  light  in  the  hall  ?" 

"Mrs.  Kerr  has  not  yet  come  in,"  said  the  man  in  injured 
tones. 

"Not  come  in    .    .    .     ?" 

There  was  a  lengthy  silence. 

"You  can  go  to  bed,"  said  Greorge  at  last,  with  forced  calm- 
ness. "I  rst  take  that  lamp  away,  and  light  the  candles.  I 
shall  wait  up  for  your  mistress." 

There  had  been  nothing  very  particular  about  the  day  just 
elapsed.  It  had  only  differed  in  details  from  that  of  almost 
every  day  since  chill  disillusion  had  first  entered  into  George 
Kerr's  mad  paradise — so  few  weeks  after  the  irrevocable  deed 
had  been  sealed — ^but  it  was  destined  to  have  far-reaching  con- 
sequences. 

From  the  very  morning,  as  the  youthful  husband  sat  to  a 
cold,  ill-served,  solitary  breakfast — the  mistress  of  the  house 
as  usual  sleeping  late  in  the  day  after  the  worldly  exertions 
of  the  night — the  sense  of  his  injuries  had  been  strong  upon 
him. 

Only  a  year  ago,  at  that  very  hour,  he  was  standing  beside 
his  bride  in  the  solemn  Cathedral  of  Seville,  and  in  galling 
contrast  to  the  high  hopes,  the  proud  rapture,  which  then  had 
filled  him,  the  dead  failure  of  the  present  rose,  specter-like,  to 
mock  him,  and  would  not  be  laid  again.  He  recalled  how  he 
had  looked  down  with  palpitating  heart  on  the  blushing,  smil- 
ing face,  lace-veiled,  by  his  side;  how  the  touch  of  the  slim 
fingers,  as  he  held  them  within  his,  thrilled  him  through  and 
through ;  with  what  a  tender  earnestness,  what  faith  and  love 
— God  knows! — ^he  had  vowed  to  cherish  her  till  death; — re- 
called the  tumult  of  joy  with  which  he  had  led  her  down  the 
aisle,  his  wife !     .     .     . 

It  would  be  curious  to  look  back  on,  in  truth,  if  it  were  not 
almost  maddening. 

The    quarrel    had    started,  trivially    enough,    by    hi*    re- 


How  George  Kerr  Repented  at  Leisure.     7 

fusal  to  escort  her  to  the  ball  that  evening.  In  no  humor  to 
put  himseK  out  for  her  this  day,  he  had  vowed  himself  deter- 
mined to  have  a  quiet  evening  for  once  at  any  price.  She 
pouted,  protested,  wept  and  stormed  in  vain,  finally  brushed 
away  her  tears,  and,  with  sudden  calm  defiance,  announced 
her  determination  to  go  alone. 

"If  you  do,"  had  retorted  the  husband,  fairly  roused,  "I  shall 
never  forgive  you."  And  thereupon  he  had  flung  himself  out 
of  the  house,  to  seek  in  his  club  the  peace  and  independence 
refused  him  in  his  home. 

He  had  not  dreamed  she  would  have  dared  to  disobey  him 
openly ;  indeed,  such  an  act  of  emancipation  would  have  been 
considered  so  marked  in  those  days  of  sterner  social  propriety 
that  he  had  not  for  an  instant  contemplated  seriously  the  pos- 
sibility of  her  carrying  out  her  threat ;  and  his  anger  was  deep 
indeed  when  he  discovered  the  fact. 

Gone  to  that  infernal  ball !  Gone,  in  the  very  teeth  of  his 
command ! 

"Before  heaven,  she  actually  browbeats  me!"  he  cried,  as, 
once  more  alone,  he  paced  the  little  room  from  end  to  end, 
gradually  collecting  his  thoughts  after  the  first  blank  confu- 
sion of  his  rage. 

The  silver  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  twice  in  its 
chirpy  way.  She  was  enjoying  herself,  without  doubt,  not 
thinlung  of  returning  home  for  another  hour  or  so,  bathing 
her  soul  in  the  adulation  that  was  as  the  very  breath  of  life  to 
her.  Oh !  he  could  see  her,  prodigal  of  smiles  and  those  soft 
long  looks  which  he  had  thought  were  for  him  alone,  yielding 
herself,  with  all  the  voluptuous  grace  that  had  once  enthralled 
him,  to  the  delight  of  the  dance.  And  her  husband — dangling 
fool ! — ^where  was  he  ? 

He  could  hear  the  half -mocking  inquiry  some  confidential 
swain  would  breathe  into  the  dainty  shell  of  her  little  ear,  and 
Carmen's  careless  answer;  "She  did  not  know;  at  his  club, 
she  supposed." 

And  the  "husband  at  home,"  viciously  chewing  the  stump 
of  an  extinct  cigar,  seething,  not  in  thoughts  of  jealousy — for 
passion  had  burned  itself  out  long  ago,  and  love  had  been 
stifled  by  ever-recurring  disappointment — but  in  maddening 
anger  at  the  despicable  situation  he  had  created  for  himself, 
swore  a  great  oath  that  he  would  afford  food  for  such  laughter 
no  longer. 

Yet  what  to  do  ?    Ay,  there  was  the  rub ! 

He  could  not  beat  her,  he  could  not  break  her — and  she  de- 
fied him. 

The  sense  of  his  own  impotence  met  him  on  every  side. 

"Yes,  look  at  yourself!"  he  snarled,  as  he  caught  sight  of 


8  How  He  Married  in  Haste. 

his  morose  face  in  the  glass,  and  paused  in  his  caged  tramp  to 
glare  at  it.  "Look !  think  of  your  driveling  folly,  and  despise 
yourself  for  one  moment  of  weakness !  You  will  now  have  to 
put  up  with  the  consequences,  George  Kerr,  'till  death  do 
^ou  part!'  .  .  .  You  are  the  guardian  of  a  beautiful, 
brainless  fool,  whom  you  cannot  control,  with  whom  you  have 
nothing  in  common  but  the  chain  which  binds  you  together, 
lie  almost  laughed  aloud  as  he  recalled  the  mad  impatience, 
the  tenacity,  the  determination  with  which  he  carried  his 
point  in  the  face  of  so  many  difficuties — imto  this  end ! 

And  the  thought  of  the  dear  old  regiment  he  had  sacrificed 
with  so  light  a  heart  came  over  him  with  almost  a  passion  of 
regret.  It  was  the  most  glorious,  surely,  that  ever  glittered 
under  the  sun.  Even  now  it  was  starting  for  another  spell 
of  doughty  work  in  India,  while  he — here  he  was,  white- 
faced,  useless,  with  not  even  a  show  of  happiness  to  set  off 
against  his  waste  of  youth. 

The  weary  minutes,  feverishly  ticked  off  by  the  little  clock, 
had  measured  two  leaden  hours  before  the  young  man,  storm- 
spent  and  heart-sick,  could  settle  on  a  feasible  plan  of  action. 
But  at  length,  as  the  rays  of  dawning  day  were  creeping 
through  the  curtain  folds  a  glimmer  of  light  broke  over  the 
chaos  of  his  mind.  She  had  promised  to  obey  and  honor  him, 
as  he  to  cherish  her,  but  she  was,  even  now,  sinning  against 
that  vow.  And  if  she  refused  to  keep  her  part  of  the  contract, 
why  need  he  hold  himself  to  his  ?  Let  her  obey,  as  a  wife  is 
bound  to  obey  her  husband,  or  he  would  put  her  from  him,  and 
be  surely  justified  before  God  and  man  in  so  doing. 

George,  under  the  relief  of  his  new-found  determination, 
flung  himself  on  a  deep  arm-chair  and  gradually  fell  into  a 
sort  of  drowsy,  semi-conscious  condition,  from  which  a  loud 
rattle  of  wheels  and  a  sharp  peal  of  the  bell  aroused  him  to  a 
vivid  sense  of  the  moment's  importance. 

Drawing  his  weary  limbs  together,  he  rose  with  a  stem  com- 
posure to  open  the  door  to  his  wife. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

HOW    HE    MARRIED    IN    HASTE. 

It  is  an  idle  exercise  of  the  mind,  and  yet  one  which  has  its 
fascination  in  moments  of  dreamy  meditation,  that  searching 
back  into  the  far  past  of  our  own  or  our  neighbor's  life  for 
the  distant  cause,  the  seemingly  unimportant  event,  which 


How  He  Married  in  Haste,  9 

may  have  been  the  starting-point  in  the  present  concatenation 
of  things. 

And  yet,  after  all,  what  is  often  most  striking  in  such  re- 
flections is  the  sometimes  inconceivable  smallness,  even  ab- 
surdity, of  the  incident  which  leads  to  such  far-reaching  re- 
sults. A  thought,  a  look,  a  word,  is  sufficient  to  start  a  new 
train  of  circumstances.  Our  existence  has  been  rolling  in  its 
ordinary  groove,  we  have  been  treading  the  road  of  everyday 
life,  apparently  without  a  prospect  of  ever  diverging  from  it, 
when  there  comes  a  something  so  trivial  as  well-nigh  to 
escape  notice — a  pebble  which  did  but  turn  the  wheel  of  for- 
tune ever  so  little  from  its  course,  and,  behold,  what  a  change ! 
What  strange  lands  lie  befo-  :  us! — may  be,  what  racking  ex- 
periences in  the  narrow  circle  of  our  joy  and  pain ! 

That  the  present  curious  relations  of  the  last  two  represent- 
atives of  that  ancient  race,  the  Kerrs  of  Gilham,  would  never 
have  come  about  save  for  certain  side-events,  seemingly  irrele- 
vant, in  the  life  of  their  grandsire,  is  a  fact  which  would 
doubtless  much  vex  his  sturdy  old  ghost  were  it  brought  home 
to  him.  And  yet,  again,  these  events  would  never  have  oc- 
curred had  not  the  course  of  Lord  Wellington's  operations  in 
the  Peninsula  obliged  him  to  attack  Marmont's  strong  position 
of  Los  Arapiles  on  the  22d  of  July,  1812,  on  which  day  was 
achieved  the  bloody  victory  now  heralded  "Salamanca"  on  the 
colors  and  standards  of  thirty-five  of  our  regiments.  During 
the  course  of  that  fierce  struggle  it  fell  to  the  lot  o#  Lieuten- 
ant Kerr,  whose  captain  had  already  been  shot,  to  dislodge 
with  a  company  of  Highlanders  a  party  of  troublesome  Ln- 
perial  Voltigeurs  from  a  certain  crenelated  village  called 
Santa  Maria  de  la  Pena.  At  a  critical  moment  he  was, 
through  the  fortune  of  war,  opportunely  re-enforced  by  a  party 
of  the  3d  "Ligeros,"  gallantly  led  by  a  Spanish  officer,  one 
Don  Atanasio  de  Ayala,  anxious  in  his  burning  national  pride 
to  imitate,  if  possible  to  rival,  the  exploits  of  the  Northerners. 

It  was  a  hard-fought  day.  By  the  time  the  Imperials  had 
sullenly  but  unequivocally  yielded  the  ground,  both  the  Span- 
ish and  the  English  officer  were  severely  wounded.  Discov- 
ered side  by  side,  scarcely  breathing,  but  still  alive,  they  were 
carted  off  to  experience  together  the  horrors  of  a  JPeninsular 
ambulance.  Both  were  young  men,  almost  boys.  They  had 
seen  each  other  at  work,  and  in  the  close  intimacy  in  which 
they  were  thus  thrown  cemented  such  a  friendship  as  is  made 
only  amid  hardships  doughtily  shared  and  dangers  met  in 
conunon. 

Now,  but  for  that  breathless  meeting  on  the  torrid  crags  of 
Arapil  el  Grande,  certain  human  existences  would  undoubted- 
ly, in  distant  days  to  come,  when  Peninsular  events  had  long 


lo  How  He  Married  in  Haste. 

passed  into  the  domain  of  general  history,  have  moved  in 
widely  different  channels — one  of  them,  indeed,  never  have 
issued  out  of  the  store  of  infinite  life. 

In  the  natural  course  of  things  the  friends  parted,  to  look 
upon  each  other's  face  no  more.  Peace  returned;  each  in 
his  turn  retired  to  his  own  home,  matured,  then  married  and 
settled  down ;  the  Spaniard  spinning  out  his  life  in  the  true, 
lazy  Andalusian  way;  the  Englishman,  when  the  time  came, 
assuming  the  reins  of  government  on  the  ancestral  estate  of 
Gilham,  where,  toward  the  end  of  the  year  1850,  an  awkward 
fall  between  a  double  rail  terminated  his  well-filled  life  at 
the  beginning  of  its  twelfth  luster. 

During  the  course  of  his  allotted  span  this  William  Kerr  of 
Gilham  had  reproduced  his  existence  in  three  different  direc- 
tions. A  first  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  an  ancient  house 
had  given  an  heir  to  the  proud  name  and  wide  lands  of  Gil- 
ham ;  of  a  second,  contracted  in  the  autumn  of  his  life,  were 
born  tisvo  other  children,  who,  by  the  way,  throxigh  the  irregu- 
lar workings  of  hereditary  chance,  proved  to  be,  both  in  look 
and  temper,  far  more  true  Kerrs  than  the  first-born.  For  the 
latter,  although  very  consciously  proud,  as  in  duty  bound,  of 
the  headship  of  his  house  when  it  devolved  upon  him,  recalled 
in  no  particular,  except  perhaps  an  unimpeachable  sense  of 
duty,  the  traditional  characteristics — ^the  warm-hearted  im- 
pulsiveness and  easy-going  spirit  of  his  father's  race. 

On  his  accession  the  new  squire  naturally  became  guardian 
to  the  offspring  of  what,  in  his  heart,  he  had  always  held  as 
his  sire's  senile  folly.  Of  these,  the  boy,  George,  was  at  that 
time  half-way  through  his  teens,  and  Susie  on  the  threshold 
of  womanhood — just  an  age  when  the  unwelcome  charge  was 
likely  to  give  their  guardian  most  trouble. 

He  was,  however,  soon  relieved  of  half  his  burden,  for  the 
jear  of  mourning  was  scarcely  out  before  Susie  left  the  Court 
to  bestow  herself,  and  her  little  independent  fortune,  on  a  cer- 
tain handsome,  intellectual,  penniless  curate,  Hillyard  by 
name,  and  joyfully  set  up  house  in  a  humble  Kentish  parson- 
age on  three  hundred  a  year  and  her  darling  brother  George's 
blessing — a  commodity  which  this  young  gentleman  very  gra- 
ciously bestowed  on  the  couple,  though  personally  he  could  not 
be  said  to  think  much  of  curates. 

But  George  it  was  who  all  his  life  had  been  a  thorn 
in  the  present  squire's  side,  and  he  was  not  so  easily  got  rid 
of — a  perpetual  disturbing  element  in  the  matter  of  Gilham's 
otherwise  satisfactory  existence,  even  from  distant  Eton. 
Things,  bad  enough  in  his  unruly  boyhood,  were  at  their  worst 
between  them  when  Alma  Mater  opened  her  arms  to  the 
scapegrace.    All  the  Kerrs  who  were  not  soldiers  had  been 


How  He  Married  in  HastI  ii 

Trinity  men;  and  George,  repairing  thither  as  a  matter  of 
course,  his  career  under  the  shadow  of  those  time-honored 
walls  became,  in  the  estimation  of  a  person  of  his  step-broth- 
er's temperament,  nothing  short  of  scandalous.  In  truth,  it 
was  a  succession  of  ridiculous  scrapes  and  escapades  which 
gave  the  pompous  guardian  the  most  exquisite  irritation. 

On  his  side.  Master  George,  who  considered  himself  unwar- 
rantably hectored  and  curbed,  and  kept  on  an  ungentlemanly 
short  allowance,  gradually  fought  shy  of  returning  to  his  old 
home,  despite  his  pretty  sister-in-law's  conciliating  and  wel- 
coming presence.  And  so,  there  having  grown  no  feeling  ex- 
cept mutual  dislike  between  the  strait-laced  methodical  squire 
and  his  headstrong,  "good-for-nothing"  half-brother — who,  in- 
deed, according  to  the  former's  innermost  ideas,  had  no  busi- 
ness to  exist  at  all — it  was  but  natural  that  when  the  young 
man  came  of  age,  and  into  the  unfettered  possession  of  his 
own  money,  he  should  shake  off  his  elder's  control  with  the 
smallest  delay  possible. 

This  was  the  time  when  England,  after  forty  years  of  peace, 
and  at  the  lowest  military  disorganization,  having  settled  in 
grim  earnest  to  her  contest  with  her  ever-rampant  Eastern 
rival,  was  sending  the  cream  of  her  manhood  to  the  Crimea. 

The  first  use  George  made  of  his  delightful  new  liberty  was 
to  drop  academic  pretensions,  and  to  buy  a  commission  in  the 
Highland  regiment  that  had  known  his  father  so  well.  And, 
curiously  enough,  this  first  independent  act  was  the  only  one 
he  ever  took  which  met  with  the  unmitigated  approval  of  the 
head  of  his  house,  who,  however  strongly  he  might  have  ob- 
jected to  the  profession  in  peace-time,  as  a  snare  and  a  pitfall 
for  idle  youth,  now  sincerely  wished  him  a  martinet  of  a 
colonel,  and  even  considered  without  too  much  discomposure 
the  possible  prospect  of  a  soldier's  grave  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Sebastopol. 

Hard  and  grim,  however,  as  that  experience  proved,  it  was 
far  from  effecting  the  desired  amendment. 

On  leaving  Krim  Tartary,  the  proud  regiment,  prouder 
than  ever,  though  much  thinned  and  battered,  after  its  two 
years  of  relentless  campaigning,  was  quartered  at  Gibraltar, 
and  proceeded  to  enjoy  a  period  of  well-earned  rest.  George, 
who  had  escaped  scot-free  from  the  hazard  of  lead  and  steel, 
was  changed  in  no  way  from  the  scatter-brain,  dare-devil  un- 
dergraduate, save  perhaps  by  an  increase  of  adventurous 
spirit,  coupled  with  the  fool-hardiness  of  one  who  had  seen 
Death  at  close  quarters,  only  to  laugh  in  his  face. 

Andalusia  in  the  spring  of  the  year  is,  one  may  take  it,  a 
place  where  a  young  man  of  naturally  warm,  reckless  fancy 
,and  athletic  temperament  easily  loses  bis  NorUiarn  delibera- 


12  How  He  Married  in  Haste. 

tion,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  Now,  the  subaltern,  delighted  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  gratifying  his  love  of  adventure,  re- 
solved to  spend  his  first  leave  in  wandering  about  Southern 
Spain,  then  supposed  to  be  the  home  of  all  that  was  romantic, 
beautiful  and  dangerous.  And  refusing  all  offers  of  compan- 
ionship, he  flung  himself  headlong  into  the  arms  of  that 
fascinating  land — determined  to  enjoy  to  the  uttermost  all 
that  it  was  capable  of  yielding — to  fall  promptly,  as  do  all  who 
are  blessed  or  cursed  with  poetic  fancy,  under  its  most  in- 
describable charm. 

What  is  it  gives  Spain  so  extraordinary  a  spell  ?  it  would  be 
hard  to  say  precisely;  but  the  sunny  existence,  the  graceful 
dress,  dignified  old-world  courtesy,  old-world  habits ;  the  mag- 
nificent, sonorous  tongue  so  sweet  in  love,  so  grave  and  rich 
in  earnest  discourse ;  the  passionate  yet  langorous  national 
music  so  stirring  to  young  blood;  all  these  things  are  com- 
ponents of  the  charm  to  which  George  abandoned  himself  with 
all  the  thoroughness  and  irreflectiveness  that  characterized 
him. 

He  had  reached  Seville — Seville,  the  jewel  of  the  world  as 
the  Spaniards  hold  it — toward  the  spring  of  the  year,  the  pas- 
sionate, ripe  spring  of  Spain  which,  like  to  the  maidens  of 
that  sun-loved  land,  flowers  from  pale  irmnaturity  into  warm 
development  of  beauty  with  magic  quickness;  and  there, 
under  the  vault  of  burning  blue,  amid  the  contrasting  light 
and  shade,  in  the  rambling  streets  of  the  old  Moorish  town, 
there  came  to  George  Kerr  one  of  those  episodes  which  are 
so  slight,  so  trivial,  as  to  pass,  in  many  instances,  all  unnoted, 
but  which  nevertheless,  as  has  been  said,  bring  in  their  train 
consequences  strange,  unforeseen,  and  destined,  perchance,  to 
cliange  a  man's  whole  destiny. 

In  the  serene  enjoyment  of  that  soundness  of  body  and 
freshness  of  mind  which  belong  by  right  to  the  blessed  age  of 
two-and-twenty,  the  young  warrior,  immersed  in  complacent 
appreciation  of  his  well-merited  spell  of  freedcmi  and  laziness, 
was  sauntering  down  a  narrow,  silent,  deserted  street^  toward 
those  middle  hours  of  the  day  when  the  Spaniard  seeks  his 
siesta,  and  when,  according  to  his  sententious  saying,  "only 
dogs  or  Englishmen  walk  abroad." 

One  of  the  quaint  wrought-iron  gateways  which  mark  the 
entrance  to  some  private  house,  through  the  fantastically  in- 
terlacing bars  of  which  the  passer-by  can  usually  descry  the 
fresh  foliage  of  palm,  i)omegranate  and  orange  trees  fiUin?? 
the  umbrageous  inner  courtyard,  arrested  his  attention.  He 
stopped  and  gazed  through  the  scroll  work  at  the  mysterious 
nook,  while  a  desire,  curious  in  its  suddenness,  to  see  some- 


How  He  Married  in  Haste.  13 

thing  of  the  inner  life,  something  more  than  the  threshold  of 
such  a  dwelling,  took  possession  of  him. 

"Now,  here  is  a  place,"  thought  he,  "with  a  charming  ca- 
pacity for  romance.  Delicious  experiences  might  await  a 
man  in  just  such  a  house  as  this — if  he  only  had  the  key  of 
the  gate." 

He  lit  his  cigarette  and  pondered.  And  as  he  abstractedly 
listened  to  the  monotonous  ripple  of  a  fountain,  hidden  be- 
hind the  tantalizing  screen  of  verdure,  the  capricious  wish 
grew  and  grew  in  intensity,  until  it  became  almost  a  resolve. 

All  at  once,  with  fantastic  opportuneness,  a  delightful  idea 
flashed  across  his  mind.  His  father,  from  oft-quoted  accounts, 
had  had  a  certain  Spanish  comrade  in  the  old  fighting  days. 
This  gallant  foreign  officer,  Don  Something  or  other  de 
Ayala,  whose  miniature  portrait,  in  sky  blue  and  silver,  hung 
even  now  in  the  smoking-room  at  Gilham,  hailed,  if  memory 
was  not  at  fault,  from  Seville. 

What  if  he  hunted  the  old  gentleman  up?  presuming  him, 
of  course,  to  be  still  in  the  land  of  the  living — and  why  not? 
At  all  hazards,  it  was  worth  the  trying. 

And  so  well  did  his  energy,  and  a  fair  amount  of  luck,  serve 
his  new  purpose,  that  before  sundown,  not  only  had  he  found 
out  that  his  father's  old  friend  was  alive,  actually  in  Seville, 
and  ascertained  his  address,  but  had  likewise  gathered  sundry 
particulars  concerning  his  family,  which  consisted,  it  seemed, 
but  of  his  wife  and  daughter — hermosisima,  report  said  of  the 
latter,  a  detail  which  kept  up  the  interest  to  its  original  ex- 
alted height. 

The  following  forenoon,  of  course,  saw  Greorge  at  the  gate 
of  the  house  indicated,  which  he  was  pleased  to  find  wrought 
in  still  more  delicious  vagaries,  and  affording  glimpses  of  a 
patio  even  greener,  shadier  and  more  tempting  than  that 
which  had  originally  inspired  him  with  such  curiosity.  He 
sent  up  his  card  by  the  old  dark-visaged  servant,  on  which 
to  introduce  himself,  he  had  previously  written,  under  the  title 
of  his  regiment,  the  words,  "Arapil  el  Grande" — the  name  of 
that  place  where  the  Spaniard  had  proved  so  true  an  ally  to 
his  sire,  amid  the  blood  and  smoke  and  fury  of  attack. 

In  eager  expectation,  he  paced  up  and  down  among  the 
orange  trees,  starred  with  white  blossoms,  which  filled  the 
warm  air  almost  to  excess  with  odorous  sweetness.  A  foun- 
tain rose  and  fell  in  slender  coliunns  in  each  cornor.  The 
courtyard  was  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  the  house,  a  per- 
fect remnant  of  the  domestic  architecture  peculiar  to  Anda- 
lusia in  the  sixteenth  century — architecture  in  which  Moorish 
fancy  and  luxury  of  detail  blended  with  Christian  simplicity. 
,    It  was  to  the  Englishman's  imaginative  mind  ai  if  he  had 


14  How  He  Married  in  Haste. 

stepped  straight  into  the  world  of  days  gone  by.  And,  be- 
hold! the  heavy,  nail-studded  ogee  door  moved  slowly  on  its 
scrolled  hinges,  and,  standing  framed  by  the  darkness  beyond, 
there  appeared  a  peak-bearded,  white-haired  old  cavalier,  but 
surely  just  this  instant  stepped  down  from  some  canvas  of 
Velasquez  to  welcome  the  stranger  from  the  dull  days  of  the 
nineteenth  century  into  the  glamourous  past. 

So  strong  for  the  minute  was  the  illusion  with  whi<jh 
George  was  pleased  to  divert  himself,  that  it  was  almost  with 
amazement  that  he  met  the  old  man's  earnest  greeting,  as  the 
latter,  scrutinizing  his  visitor  with  kindly  eyes,  came  forward, 
holding  out  his  hand,  and  saying  with  deep,  grave  voice  in 
sonorous  Spanish : 

"Son  of  my  old  friend,  you  are  welcome!  Welcome  to  this, 
your  house,  my  son !" 

He  was  a  very  real  jjersonage,  after  all,  despite  his  weirdly 
antique  air;  and  the  hand  that  George  now  grasped  in  true 
sturdy  British  fashion  was  unmistakably  flesh  and  blood, 
however  agedly  etherealized. 

Again  the  worn,  kind  eyes  sought  the  young  man's  face, 
their  scrutiny  softening  into  benevolent  pleasure  as  they 
rested  on  its  handsome  youthfulness. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  speak  the  Spanish  tongue?"  said  Don 
Atanasio  in  quaint  English,  with  a  little  evident  and  guile- 
less pride  in  his  own  proficiency. 

"I  have  been  learning  at  Gibraltar,"  quoth  George.  And 
thus  the  ice  being  broken,  the  conversation  progressed  fluently 
enough. 

Bending  his  fine  old  head,  for  he  was  taller  than  the  High- 
lander by  an  inch  or  so,  the  Spaniard  listened  to  the  visitor's 
frank  explanation  of  his  appearance  in  courteous  and  pleased 
attention. 

"So  my  old  comrade — God  have  his  soul ! — did  not  forget  to 
speak  to  his  children  of  the  Spanish  friend.  It  is  well !  it  is 
well !  and  a  kind  thought  of  his  father's  son  to  come  and  see 
the  old  man.  Methinks  it'is  as  if  it  were  the  gallant  William 
again  in  the  flesh  before  me.  Ah,  sir!  we  were  strong,  fiery 
yoimg  men  together,  and  the  thought  of  those  early  days  has 
not  gone  from  me.  You  are  welcome  indeed !  Welcome  for 
the  sake  of  the  blood  that  flows  in  your  veins,  for  the  mem- 
ory of  him  that  is  no  more,  and  for  your  own  sake  too,  most 
heartily." 

Taking  the  blushing  Englishman's  arm,  who,  though 
touched  by  his  host's  genuine  emotion,  was  thoroughly  at  a 
loss  how  to  respond  to  Qiese  flowers  of  8i)eech,  he  led  him  with 
dignified  steps  into  the  house. 

They  passed  first  through  a  dark  hall,  bare,  vaulted,  echoing 


How  He  Married  in  Haste.  15 

to  the  sound  of  their  feet,  then  up  a  flight  of  stone  stairs  into 
a  large  flagged  room. 

The  proportions  of  this  place  were  so  majestic,  it  rose  into 
such  loftiness,  spread  into  such  spacious  wideness,  that,  in 
wondering  admiration,  the  young  man  halted  and  stared. 
Stately,  somber  visages  looked  down  at  him  from  their  tar- 
nished frames;  tapestry  rich-hued,  yet  faded,  hung  between 
them,  out  of  which  as  he  gazed  there  started  into  life  the 
quaintest  depths  of  fairy  forests,  the  weirdest  forms;  stern 
suits  of  armor  stood  in  stiff  array  along  the  wall,  seeming  to 
retain  in  their  dead  emptiness  something  of  the  ferocious  dig- 
nity of  the  spirits  that  once  animated  them,  and  to  glare  upon 
the  world  with  angry  menace  in  their  vacant  visors.  In  the 
middle  of  the  floor  a  hrasero  of  glowing  red  copper  gave  the 
last  touch  of  outlandish  and  mediaeval  strangeness  to  the 
scene, 

A  light  tap  on  his  arm  recalled  him  to  himself.  Before 
him,  as  if  she  had  sprung  out  of  the  earth,  smiling,  handsome, 
wrinkled,  stood  a  dame  with  white  hair,  lace-veiled,  of  im- 
posing proportions,  clad  in  the  picturesque  national  costume ; 
a  not  incongruous  pendant  to  the  solemn  leanness  of  the 
cavalier. 

"Beloved  of  my  soul,  I  present  to  thee  the  son  of  my 
brother  in  arms,"  said  Don  Atanasio  in  Spanish,  as  George 
made  a  low  bow ;  "the  son  of  that  much-beloved  and  regretted 
friend  Don  William  Kerr,  of  whom  I  have  so  often  spoken 
to  thee.  A  lieutenant  of  Scots,  even  as  was  his  father.  He 
speaks  Spanish." 

Blissfully  ignorant  of  the  chivalrous  customs  of  the  coun- 
try, George  proceeded  to  press — not  knowing  he  should  have 
kissed — the  very  small,  very  fat  hand  which,  with  a  guttural 
flow  of  hospitable  observations,  was  warmly  extended  to  him. 

But  the  whole  scene  assumed  a  new  complexion  when,  with 
a  patter  of  light,  quick  feet,  a  fourth  person  made  her  en- 
trance into  the  room,  and  he  was  further  introduced  to 
"Carmen,  my  unique  daughter." 

Just  at  the  age  when  in  a  sunny  clime  a  woman  attains  the 
perfection  of  a  bloom  as  rich  and  warm  as  the  opening  pome- 
granate flower;  attired,  like  her  mother,  as  were  all  Spanish 
ladies  in  those  days,  in  the  national  dress — even  in  that  land 
of  exquisite  maidens  Carmen  was  a  jewel. 

At  sight  of  the  visitor  she  stopped  short  in  an  attitude  of 
half-arch  half-bashful  astonishment,  and  George  realized  on 
the  spot  that  he  had  never  known  before  what  loveliness  a 
woman  could  embody.  The  first  look  he  cast  upon  her,  taking 
in  the  luster  of  dark  eyes,  the  curve  of  red  lips,  the  exquisitely 
rounded,  satin-clad  figure,  to  end  respectfully  on  a  pair  of  tiny 


i6  How  He  Married  in  Haste. 

slippers  which  juAt  allowed  a  ray  of  tender  blue  stocking  to 
peer  through  the  cloud  of  black  lace,  was  simply  a  revelation. 
It  seemed  to  lift  him  into  an  existence  hitherto  unthought  of. 

As  for  the  cause  of  his  sudden  exaltation,  she  apparently 
experienced  some  occult  psychical  reaction  of  the  same  kind. 
Such  ecstasies  are  sympathetic.  As  her  eyes  met  his  they 
became  troubled,  a  crimson  flush  flew  to  each  olive  cheek,  and 
the  modest  answer  to  his  stammered  compliment  died  away 
half  finished  in  an  inarticulate  murmur. 

Meanwhile,  all  unconscious  of  the  strange  operations  at 
work  in  those  two  young  heads  and  hearts  so  near  to  him, 
Don  Atanasio,  with  that  hospitality  which  is  part  of  the  very 
spirit  of  his  race,  was  explaining  to  his  guest  that  there  could 
be  no  question  of  his  living  at  Seville  anywhere  but  under  his 
roof;  in  declaring  that  his  house  in  town,  his  villa  near 
Ronda,  his  horses,  his  servants,  all  his  possessions,  were  at 
his  disposal  whenever  and  as  long  as  the  son  of  his  old  friend 
chose  to  make  use  of  them. 

And  in  this  manner  George  Kerr,  barely  twenty-four  hours 
after  acting  on  a  fantastic  desire,  the  idlest  freak  of  curiosity, 
found  himself  installed  as  the  honored  guest  of  Don  Atanasio 
de  Ayala  y  Quevedo,  and  already  the  abject  slave  of  his 
daughter's  bright  eyes. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  this  arrangement,  which  did 
away  with  all  true  liberty  of  action,  would  very  soon  have 
palled  upon  him;  but  as  it  was,  betwitched,  spellbound,  he 
passed  day  after  day  in  a  feverish  dream  of  excitement  and 
rapture. 

He  made  rapid  progress  in  the  language,  as  well  as  in  the 
favor  of  his  simple-minded  entertainers.  Don  Atanasio  was 
charmed  to  have  found  a  new  listener  for  his  interminable 
stories  of  the  War  of  Independence,  so  modest  and  well-be- 
haved a  youth,  who  seemed  content  to  sit  for  hours  under  his 
discourses,  with  eyes  cast  down,  attending  with  such  deep 
interest  to  his  lessons  in  tactics  and  his  account  of  the  ex- 
ploits of  "El  Lord"  and  his  Spanish  allies. 

As  for  the  beautiful  creature,  sole  survivor  of  the  many 
children  who  had  once  gathered  round  the  old  couple's  knees, 
she  spoke  little  to  the  stranger;  but  for  all  that,  the  most 
eloquent  and  passionate  conversation  passed  daily  between  the 
two  under  the  very  nose  of  the  watchful  parents.  Eye  spoke 
to  eye  in  question  and  avowal.  The  flush  on  her  lovely  oval 
cheek,  the  pouting  of  her  fair  red  mouth,  answered  many  a 
time  and  most  satisfactorily  the  silent  disclosure  of  passion 
which  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  the  voiceless  motion  of  his 
lips,  conveyed  to  the  object  of  his  worship. 

Long  before  an  opportunity  occurred  for  the  open  declara- 


How  He  Married  in  Haste.  17 

tion  of  his  feelings,  George  possessed  the  rapturous  conviction 
of  being  beloved  in  return,  and  this  state  of  abeyance,  its 
delicate,  exquisite  joys  had  for  him  a  charm  and  piquancy 
he  was  half  loath  to  break  through. 

One  day,  having  for  a  few  moments  eluded  the  surrounding 
vigilance,  they  found  themselves  face  to  face  alone,  and 
straightway  the  burning  secret  which  they  had  shared 
in  silence  found  words  at  last.  In  the  somber  old  room, 
under  the  scowling  eyes  of  a  score  of  past-century  warriors, 
just  by  the  half-shuttered  window,  where  a  peep  of  green 
spoke  of  the  budding  orange-trees,  Carmen  and  George  talked 
of  eternal  love,  and,  kissing  her  lips,  he  vowed  himself  fit  to 
die  with  happiness  at  her  feet. 

"I  hear,  Don  Jorge,  that  you  have  seen  my  daughter  alone 
to-day,"  said  Don  Atanasio  very  gravely  that  same  evening. 
"Allow  me  to  reproach  you.  Among  us  such  conduct  is 
thought  incorrect.  Were  you  more  conversant  with  things 
of  Spain,  I  would  even  call  it  a  breach  of  honor." 

This  was  a  tempting  opportunity  for  George  to  carry  out  to 
its  obvious  end  the  folly  which  filled  his  brain,  and  to  avow 
the  passion  which  the  enthralling  episode  of  that  day  had 
exalted  to  fever-heat. 

"Sir,"  he  replied  warmly,  "I  beseech  you  to  remember  that 
the  rules  of  honorable  behavior  differ  in  various  countries. 
An  English  gentleman  who  loves  a  woman  and  would  make 
her  his  wife  sees  no  breach  of  honor  in  asking  her  himself. 
If,  however,  I  have  transgressed,  I  can  but  beg  your  forgive- 
ness." 

The  old  man's  severe  mood  slightly  softened  as  the  youth, 
whose  cavalier-like  accomplishments  he  had  already  had  oc- 
casion to  appreciate,  went  on  without  flinching  from  his  gaze : 

"I  bear,  as  you  know,  an  ancient  name,  have  an  indepen- 
dent fortune,  and  serve  in  an  honorable  profession.  I  ask 
your  daughter,  whom  I  love  and  who  loves  me,  for  my  wife." 

This  little  speech,  which  George  flattered  himself  was  quite 
in  Spanish  style,  was  listened  to  in  silence  by  the  old  Don, 
who  considered  it  just  pardonable  in  a  foreigner. 

"She  should  not  have  owned  that  she  loved  you,"  he  re- 
marked at  length;  "but  what  is  done  is  done.  We  will 
advise." 

Advise  he  did  in  consequence  with  his  loving  consort,  the 
white-haired  chaplain,  and  a  few  trusted  friends — advised  in 
much  anxiety  of  mind,  earnestness,  and  deliberation;  and 
finally,  in  opposition  to  all  the  counsel  he  sought  for,  carried 
the  day  as  his  kindly  old  heart  had  prompted  him  from  the 
first.     His  solemn  approval  was  given  to  the  engagement,  and 


i8  How  He  Married  in  Haste, 

the  young  man,  half  bewildered  with  his  own  happiness,  left 
the  house  till  the  time  came  for  him  to  fetch  his  bride. 

George's  midsummer  madness  was  having  serious  conse- 
quences. He  started  back  on  his  journey  to  Gibraltar  to  beg 
for  prolongation  of  leave  in  order  to  go  to  England  and  make 
arrangements  for  his  new  departure. 

When  he  returned  to  the  mess-room  and  announced  his 
intention  to  be  married,  the  joking  which  was  started  on  the 
subject  of  the  disastrous  result  of  the  sub's  first  leave  became 
so  ceaseless  and  unlicensed  as  to  prove  quite  intolerable  to  the 
victim's  passionate  spirit.  And  when  the  Colonel,  as  might 
be  expected,  first  pooh-poohed  his  request  for  further  leave, 
and  finally  flatly  refused  to  grant  it,  George,  not  sorry  to 
escape  the  galling  gibes  of  his  comrades,  and  momentarily 
out  of  conceit  with  his  regimental  life  and  its  irksome  re- 
straint, while  more  bent  than  ever  from  the  very  opposition 
he  encountered  on  carrying  through  his  determination,  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  selling  out. 

On  a  certain  memorable  evening  toward  the  end  of  May 
in  the  same  year,  a  number  of  the  Times  was  placed  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Kerr  of  Gilham,  destined  through  one  minute 
portion  of  its  contents  to  shake  that  worthy  gentleman's  soul 
with  a  very  paroxysm  of  virtuous  indignation. 

He  had  just  returned  from  a  ride  round  his  farms  and  had 
taken  up  the  paper  determined  beforehand  to  disagree  with 
most  of  its  opinions.  But  he  was  ill  prepared  for  such  a  call 
upon  his  wrath  as  the  crisp  columns  contained  for  him  that 
day. 

"Gwendolin,"  said  the  squire  in  awful  tones,  as  he  stepped 
on  to  the  lawn  in  search  of  his  long-sufFering  wife,  "I  must 
beg  you  to  favor  me  with  your  attention  for  a  moment.  List- 
en to  this — *0n  the  twenty-fifth  of  May,  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Seville,  George  Kerr,  youngest  son  of  the  late  William  Kerr 
of  Gilham,  Esquire,  late  of  the  — th  Highlanders,  to  Dona 
Carmen  Maria  Concepcion,  only  daughter  of  Don  Atanasio 
Ayala  y  Quevedo !' — eh,  what  next  ?" 

"George  married!"  ejaculated  Lady  Gwendolin  in  amaze- 
ment. Then,  seizing  only  the  bare  facts,  she  exclaimed  with 
lively  feminine  interest:  "Married  to  a  Spanish  girl;  I  am 
sure  she  is  lovely!  Oh,  Willie,  how  unkind  of  him  never  to 
write!     How  I  wish  I  could  see  them!" 

"Gwendolin!"  returned  the  squire,  stiff  with  horror,  "you 
do  not  know  what  you  are  saying?  Do  you  not  see  that 
George" — and  he  shook  the  sheet  with  suppressed  rage — "that 
this  depraved  man  has  married  a  Papist — a  Spanish  Papist  ? 
Heaven  only  knows  what  the  end  of  it  will  be;  perhaps  he 
has   turned    Papist   himself.    Carmen   Maria   Concepcion  I 


How  He  Married  in  Haste.  19 

Who  in  his  senses  would  ever  have  thought  of  associating 
these  idolatrous  names  with  the  name  of  Kerr  ?  By  a  Romish 
priest,  in  the  Cathedral  of  Seville,  you  understand — Seville, 
the  headquarters  of  the  Inquisition." 

Even  good-tempered,  pleasant  Lady  Gwendolin  was  not 
above  the  current  prejudice  against  other  people's  religion. 
She  looked  shocked  and  unhappy  as  the  truth  forced  itself 
upon  her,  and  lifted  her  voice  in  no  remonstrance  when  her 
husband,  dashing  the  paper  away  from  him  with  an  indecor- 
ous display  of  excitement  very  foreign  to  him,  uttered  his 
command  that  henceforth  the  name  of  George  Kerr  was  not 
to  be  uttered  in  his  presence,  and  that  so  long  as  he  was 
master  of  Gilham  the  shadow  of  the  shameless  culprit  was 
never  to  darken  his  doors  again. 

The  two  sturdy  little  boys  who  were  being  brought  up  so 
well  under  their  father's  methodical  rule,  who  were  such 
model  little  boys  before  his  face  and  such  incarnate  pickles 
behind  his  back,  now  looked  after  his  pompous  retreating 
figure  and  at  their  mother's  saddened  face  with  round,  solemn 
blue  eyes,  whispering  to  each  other  that  Uncle  George  had 
done  something  very  naughty,  and  wondering  what  it  could 
be. 

A  few  weeks  before  Susan  Hillyard,  in  her  little  gabled 
parsonage,  had  received  a  letter  from  her  brother,  setting 
forth,  in  a  few  kind,  careless  words,  the  announcement  of 
his  approaching  happiness. 

"I  know  that  my  good  little  Susie,"  said  the  writer,  "will 
love  my  beautiful  Carmen  as  a  sister,  and  rejoice  that  her 
George  is  the  happiest  man  in  the  whole  world." 

Susie  had  wept  tears  of  mingled  dismay  and  tenderness, 
and  dispatched  a  long,  loving  answer,  containing  the  assur- 
ance of  her  undying  aflFection,  and  her  readiness  to  welcome 
with  all  cordiality  her  lovely  new  sister.  Though  somewhat 
inclined  to  fear  he  was  risking  his  eternal  salvation  by  such 
a  step,  she  was  immensely  consoled  by  her  husband's  philoso- 
phical reception  of  the  news;  for  the  Rev.  Robert  Hillyard, 
notwithstanding  his  official  position,  was  too  liberal  and  open- 
minded  to  blindly  condemn  any  creature  for  his  creed. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FIRST  ANNIVERSARY  OF  A  WEDDING  DAY. 

Carmen  halted  a  moment  on  the  threshold  as  her  husband 
opened  the  door  and  silently  received  her;  she  was  clad  in 
crimson  and  enveloped  in  clouds  of  black  lace,  glorious,  even 
against  the  flood  of  searching,  morning  light,  in  radiant 
youthful  beauty.  She  looked  at  him;  then,  without  a  word, 
brushed  by.  Her  step  was  alert  and  springy;  there  was  not 
a  shade  of  fatigue  over  the  warm  complexion,  under  the 
superb  eyes,  in  the  carriage  of  the  lithe,  roimded  figure. 

"That  woman,  my  iwif e,  is  peerless — there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  that,"  thought  George,  following  her  movements  with  a 
dark,  abstracted  look. 

There  was  naught  but  aesthetic,  lifeless  criticism  in  his  ad- 
miration, mingled  with  wonder  at  the  uselessness  of  such 
mere  bodily  perfection.  And,  in  truth,  was  not  that  very 
beauty  of  hers — she  being  his  wife,  and  such  as  she — but 
part  of  his  curse?  Did  not  the  exquisite,  feather-brained 
creature  who  thus  returned  defiantly  in  broad  daylight  from 
her  night's  amusement  bear  his  name  and  hold  his  honor  in 
her  hands? 

His  black  face  grew  more  lowering  yet;  with  a  magnificent 
show  of  indifference  she  was  passing  up-stairs,  when  he  called 
to  her  to  stop,  and  in  so  harsh  a  voice  that  it  imposed  imme- 
diate, if  perchance  involuntary,  obedience.  She  paused,  one 
little  foot  on  the  first  step,  her  head  thrown  back,  interrogat- 
ing him  with  languid  eye  and  raised  eyebrow. 

"Come  into  my  study,"  he  said;  "I  have  much  to  say  to 
you." 

She  hesitated,  but,  as  he  opened  the  door  and  imperatively 
motioned  her  into  the  room,  look  and  gesture  were  too  stem 
to  be  resisted,  and,  with  an  ill  grace,  a  loud  sigh  of  resigna- 
tion, she  obeyed.     She  confronted  him  sullenly. 

"Well,  my  lovely  Carmen,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "I  can 
see  by  the  brightness  of  your  eyes  that  you  have  enjoyed  your 
evening  on  this  first  anniversary  of  our  happy  union.  All 
the  more,  no  doubt,  for  the  absence  of  your  husband.  But," 
he  continued,  with  a  sudden  hard  change  of  tone,  as  she 
ostentatiously  yawned  behind  her  fan,  "I  have  to  warn  you 
that,  while  you  live  under  my  roof,  it  is  my  intention  to 
prevent  such  escapades  as  to-night's  ever  happening  again." 

She  turned  upon  him  quickly  and  merely  asked,  with  a 


First  Anniversary  of  a  Wedding  Day.    2i 

little  toss  of  her  head,  a  little  .tapping  of  the  crimson  slipper 
on  the  ground : 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?" 

"No,"  answered  the  man.  "I  have  much  to-  speak  to  you 
about,  and  I  am  determined  you  shall  hear  it  now.  Sit 
down." 

"I  am  going  to  bed.  I  am  tired,"  she  cried  petulantly,  but 
still  avoiding  his  eye.  She  gathered  her  skirts  together,  and, 
as  he  would  have  barred  her  way,  with  a  mixture  of  childish 
passion  and  fear,  she  pushed  him  vigorously  aside  with  one 
round  bare  arm,  and  like  a  whirlwind  dashed  out  of  the  room, 
slamming  the  door  behind  her. 

He  made  a  step  forward.  Then  he  flung  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  for  a  long  while  remained  motionless,  absorbed 
in  thought. 

At  length  he  rose  and  made  his  way  slowly  up  the  stairs; 
knocked  at  his  wife's  door  and  listened.  There  was  no 
sound  within;  he  tried  the  handle,  but  the  door  was  locked. 

"Carmen,  you  had  better  open ;  do  not  push  this  too  far !" 
Her  dress  rustled  as  she  moved  about ;  he  could  hear  her  dis- 
place a  chair,  and  hum  a  note  or  two  of  a  waltz  tune  to  her- 
self. _ 

His  passion  rose.  He  kicked  the  door  beneath  the  key- 
hole with  such  force  that,  with  shattered  lock,  it  burst  back 
quivering  on  its  hinges. 

With  a  scream,  suddenly  frozen  into  silence  on  her  open 
mouth,  she  rose  and  stared  at  him,  and  a  creeping  pallor 
sucked  the  blood  from  her  cheeks. 

George  closed  the  door  as  well  as  he  could,  and  came  up  to 
her ;  he,  too,  was  white  to  the  lips. 

"You  are  curiously  mistaken,"  he  said,  with  forced  calm- 
ness, "to  think  you  can  keep  me  out  of  any  room  in  my 
house.     I  am  master  here ;  you  have  forgotten  it  too  long." 

If  he  had  not  been  so  blinded  with  passion,  and  so  hard  in 
his  new-found  strength  of  purpose,  he  must  have  been  struck 
by  the  utter  childishness  of  the  dilated  eyes  fixed  on  him. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  continued,  laying  a  cold  hand  on  her 
wrist.  "I  have  had  patience;  I  have  borne  with  you  for  a 
whole  year.  It  has  been  as  a  lifetime  of  misery  to  me.  I  have 
had  enough  of  it.  I  have  taken  my  resolve — I  will  endure 
this  sort  of  existence  not  an  hour  longer.  Either  you  shall 
submit,  absolutely,  unquestioningly,  uncomplainingly,  to  my 
will  for  the  future;  live  where  I  please,  as  I  please— do  your 
duty  as  a  wife,  in  humility  and  obedience ;  or,  before  God !  I 
will  send  you  back  to  your  father !" 

She  wrenched  her  hand  angrily  away  from  him,  then  sud- 
denly burst  into  tears.    His  manner  frightened  her.    She  had 


22     First  Anniversary  of  a  Wedding  Day. 

followed  his  words,  comprehending  their  drift  no  more  in- 
telligently than  to  realize  that  he  was  very  angry,  as  usual, 
because  she  had  gone  to  the  ball  without  him.  But  the  last 
phrase  struck  home.  She  stepped  back  as  if  she  had  re- 
ceived a  buffet. 

He  let  her  weep,  without  speaking.  She  was  one  of  those 
rare  women  to  whom  tears  are  no  disfigurement.  The  crys- 
tal drops  welled  up  in  her  lustrous  eyes,  overflowed  on  her 
peach-like  cheeks,  without  a  trace  of  that  red  distortion  which 
marks  the  grief  of  ordinary  mortals. 

His  silence  emboldened  her.  From  tears  she  came  to  sob- 
bing reproaches;  from  reproach  to  vituperation.  Her  quick 
blood  rose  as  her  first  fear  subsided,  the  color  mantled  again 
in  her  cheek,  fire  dried  the  moisture  of  her  eye.  She  flung 
her  arms  about  in  passionate  gesticulation ;  the  extravagantly 
decorated  draperies  fell  away  from  her  bare  shoulders,  from, 
the  ripe  perfection  of  her  throat. 

"Because,"  she  cried,  "because,  forsooth,  I  am  young  and 
beautiful,  and  choose  to  dance  and  laugh  and  enjoy  life;  be- 
cause I  do  not  choose  to  be  buried  in  your  dull,  your  stupid 
country,  I  am  to  be  cast  off  in  disgrace !  And  you  dare  tell 
this  to  me,  George — to  me  who  have  given  up  all,  all  for  you 
— ^my  land,  my  people,  my  parents?  Oh,  my  God,  is  it  pos- 
sible?    Have  you  no  shame,  no  heart?" 

She  paused,  panting,  and  plunged  a  long  look  into  his  fixed, 
expressionless  eyes.  Never  had  she  looked  more  beautiful 
than  in  her  present  self-abandonment. 

Now,  Carmen,  dense  though  she  might  be  in  most  matters 
requiring  nice  discrimination,  or  even  the  use  of  comm.on 
sense,  had  a  keen  enough  perception  of  anything  that  touched 
her  personal  vanity.  She  suddenly  read  that  in  the  young 
man's  eyes  which  was,  as  she  thought,  a  revelation  of  her  vic- 
tory. And  on  the  spot  all  her  misgivings  vanished  as  if  by 
magic.  A  self-satisfied  smile  hovered  for  an  instant  over  the 
red  lips ;  then,  with  the  insolence  of  her  newly-found  security, 
she  resumed  her  seat  before  the  glass. 

"God  knows  I  have  had  cause  enough  to  regret  the  day 
when  you  came  to  me  with  your  false  promises  and  lured 
me  from  my  beautiful  home.  How  have  you  kept  them? 
You  have  neglected  me,  abused  me,  but  I  refuse  the  position 
you  so  kindly  offer  me  of  a  separated  woman.  I  will  not  have 
this  undeserved  shame  cast  on  me;  I  will  not  lose  my  proper 
place  in  society — what  you  cannot  do,  shall  not  do,  is  east 
me  away  before  the  world  like  a  mistress  you  are  tired  of." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  shot  a  conquering  glance 
at  him.  She  saw  that  he  was  shaking  with  a  nervous  tremor, 
that  his  eyes  were  averted  as  if  in  fear.    She  read  defeat,  she 


First  Anniversary  of  a  Wedding  Day.    23 

thought,  in  every  sign,  and  her  foolish  heart  bounded  for 
pride. 

She  compared  the  rapture  with  which  her  slightest  favors 
had  been  received  by  humble  adorers  but  a  few  hours  ago 
with  the  scowling,  downcast  countenance  of  him  who,  in  his 
own  right,  now  stood  in  her  sanctum.  And  he,  above  all  men, 
blessed  in  the  possession  of  such  a  pearl — he  it  was  who  this 
night  had  in  his  anger  threatened  to  cast  it  from  him. 

She  set  her  little  teeth  at  her  own  glowing  image;  dearly, 
dearly  should  he  smart  for  this,  for  she  could  punish  him,  and 
would,  till  he  groveled  at  her  feet.  Not  till  she  had  half 
maddened  him  by  her  disdain  and  the  glacial  barrier  that 
would  be  raised  against  him  would  she  permit  herself  to  re- 
lax in  her  severity. 

She  loosened  her  long  tresses,  and,  passing  her  jeweled  fin- 
gers through  the  heavy  black  masses,  turned  them  like  a 
mantilla  round  her  bare  shoulders;  then,  suddenly  pretend- 
ing to  recollect  herself  in  the  midst  of  another  proud  look 
in  the  glass,  she  rose,  and,  with  an  insufferably  dramatic  air, 
"Have  the  goodness  to  leave  my  room !"  she  said,  loftily,  ex- 
tending her  arm  and  pointing  to  the  door.  "You  wished  for 
separation :  you  shall  have  this  much  of  it.     Go !" 

The  compression  of  George's  hands  on  the  chair  grew  so 
violent  that  the  muscles  of  his  arms  started  into  view  be- 
neath the  sleeves.  He  looked  at  his  wife  with  a  bloodshot, 
threatening  stare. 

"Ah,  you  wish  to  rid  yourself  of  me  I  You  shall  have  your 
wish.  It  is  not  you  who  cast  me  away;  it  is  I  who  renounce 
you !"  And,  with  the  gesture  of  a  stage  queen,  she  drew  her 
wedding-ring  from  her  finger. 

"For  the  outside  world  I  shall  still  wear  a  ring,  but  not  the 
one  over  which  you  made  at  the  altar  your  perjured  oath  of 
eternal  love.     Take  it — I  have  done  with  it  and  you !" 

She  flung  it  at  him  and  then  confronted  him,  maddening 
enough  in  her  insolent  beauty  to  drive  a  calmer  man  to 
frenzy. 

And  the  frenzy  came,  and  bringing  with  it  visions  of  the 
insane  joy  of  destruction ;  the  overmastering  impulse  to  seize 
in  his  arms  the  woman  who  thus  taunted  him,  and  crush  the 
veiy  life  out  of  her  beautiful,  proud  body,  to  force  forth  her 
last  agonized  breath  in  one  long  delirious  embrace — ^not  of 
love,  for  love  is  tenderness,  but  of  tritmiph  and  rage. 

He  felt  himself  grow  pale  as  the  tiny  amulet  struck  him  on 
the  mouth.  Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  constant 
matutinal  chirrup  of  the  birds  outside  the  light  window  and 
the  rattling  of  the  discarded  ring.  Then,  suddenly,  with  au 
inarticulate  imprecation,  he  sprang  forward. 


24  The  Demon  Whispers, 

She  gave  a  stifled  shriek  of  terror  and  pain  as  she  found 
herself  helplessly  bound  in  his  anus,  her  supple  frame  vainly 
writhing  in  his  mad  grasp,  while  a  harsh,  unknown  voice 
panted  in  her  ear: 

"Our  last  day !  so  be  it,  Carmen !  I  will  see  you  tamed — or 
kill  you!" 

At  first  she  fought  like  a  tigress;  but  what  could  her 
woman's  strength,  even  in  terror,  do  against  his  fury  ?  In  his 
cruel  grip  she  soon  ceased  to  struggle.  Resistless  at  length, 
she  lay  across  his  arm,  crushed,  well-nigh  annihilated. 

With  her  submission,  his  triumph  gave  way.  Blank  and 
dazed,  he  released  her,  and  she  fell  prostrate  before  him.  He 
stood,  glaring  at  the  lovely  form  at  his  feet,  seemingly  lifeless, 
save  for  an  occasional  convulsive  sigh. 

After  a  while  that,  too,  ceased,  and  for  one  agonized  ghastly 
moment  he  thought  her  life  was  gone.  But  presently,  when, 
covering  her  face  with  the  mantle  of  her  hair,  she  took  to 
crying,  gently  and  piteously,  like  a  child,  his  senses  came 
back;  the  horror  of  the  disgrace  he  had  brought  upon  his  man- 
hood overpowered  him,  and  he  fled  from  the  rooai. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    DEMON    WHISPERS. 

The  one  sense  which  now  encompassed  George's  whole  being 
was  of  shame.  Out  into  the  deserted  street  he  dashed,  driven 
by  a  mad  desire  to  fly  from  his  own  disgrace.  Bareheaded, 
frenzied,  rushing  purposeless  this  way  and  that,  he  might 
have  been  stopped  for  a  madman  indeed,  had  not  the  early 
hour  presented  but  a  lifeless  town  to  his  first  precipitate 
flight.  But  presently,  as  the  furious  intensity  of  emotion 
subsided  to  a  duller  misery,  he  slackened  his  pace,  and  monot- 
onously followed  any  street  that  led  ahead,  dimly  finding 
some  relief  in  the  persistent  motion. 

Eastward  his  course  lay- — ^far  to  the  east.  If  his  disheveled 
attire  and  the  desperate  look  on  his  face  had  excited  ere  now 
suspicious  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  rare  policeman,  milk- 
man and  early  stall-keeper  of  deserted  Mayfair,  they  natur- 
ally attracted  more  rudely  obtrusive  attention  among  the 
busy  toilers  of  Tower  Hill  and  Hackney. 

George  began  to  realize  that  his  evening  dress,  under  the 
bright  sun  of  six  in  the  morning,  in  the  Whitechapel  Road, 
was  a  warrantable  cause  for  the  loudly  expressed  derision 
which  followed  him  on  ©very  side ;  and  he  bethought  himself 


The  Demon  Whispers.  25 

V 

to  purchase  an  overcoat  and  a  hat,  fit  for  daylight  wear,  at  the 
first  Jew  clothier's  he  could  find.  Freed  from  further  popular 
persecution,  he  fell  back  more  doggedly  than  ever  on  his  mel- 
ancholy tramp,  whither  he  knew  not.  On  and  on  till  the  eun 
was  already  on  its  downward  course,  and  the  turmoil  of  the 
great  town  had  reached  its  climax.  Then  he  found  that  his 
aimless  wayfaring  had  brought  him  back  to  the  land  of  clubs. 

In  an  utterly  prostrate  condition  he  had  just  sufiicient 
strength  and  wits  left  to  crawl  into  his  club  and  order  some 
food.  But  when  it  came,  the  very  sight  of  it  sickened  him, 
and  the  servants  looked  askance  as  he  drearily  ordered  brandy 
and  ice,  and  drank  immoderate  quantities  of  the  insidious 
mixture. 

Staggering  to  the  smoking-room,  he  fell  into  the  lap  of  the 
first  armchair,  and  sank  back  overpowered,  his  giddy  brain 
slowly  revolving  under  the  pulse  of  the  only  two  thoughts  left 
in  it — that  he  was  a  miserable,  degraded,  futureless  man,  and 
that  sleep  was  the  only  blessed  thing  in  life — until  suddenly 
all  sensation  ceased  and  he  was  plunged  in  profound  torpor. 

The  Middle  Ages  accepted  as  an  adequate  explanation  of 
many  obscure  mental  phenomena  the  theory  of  unseen  evil 
spirits  haunting  the  path  of  each  human  life,  ever  on  the 
alert  to  pounce  upon  their  victim  at  the  first  sign  of  weakness, 
and,  when  once  it  was  fairly  in  their  eager  clutches,  devoting 
their  demoniacal  ingenuity  to  its  utter  perdition,  until  a 
hitherto  happy  or  blameless  being  was  plunged  in  black  de- 
spair or  reckless  vice. 

To  such  a  familiar  demon  had  George  fallen  a  victim. 

The  voices  of  members  broke  his  sleep,  and  instantly  the 
worry  was  upon  him  stronger  than  ever,  clutching  into  his 
heart,  filling  him  with  still  more  despairing  inability  to  settle 
a  definite  line  of  conduct. 

He  tried  to  sleep  again ;  a  painful  activity  seized  upon  his 
brain.  He  took  up  a  paper  and  tried  to  read ;  his  mind  was 
paralyzed. 

Presently,  as  if  from  an  immense  distance,  his  attention 
was  drawn  to  a  paragraph  he  had  been  mechanically  scanning 
for  some  time.  It  concerned  the  suicide  of  an  officer,  and 
gradually  George's  wandering  faculties  became  fixed  upon  its 
meaning.  A  young  captain  of  Hussars,  popular,  well-to-do, 
a  favorite  with  men  and  comrades,  believed  by  all  to  be  in 
the  best  of  health,  the  best  of  circumstances,  who  seemed, 
and  with  reason,  up  to  the  day  of  his  vmaccountable  action, 
perfectly  satisfied  with  his  lot,  had  been  discovered  shot 
through  the  head,  under  circumstances  conclusively  proving 
that  he  had  fallen  by  his  own  hand. 

"Was  he  married?"  wondered  George,  and  read  the  para- 


26  The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco* 

graph  again.  There  was  no  mention  of  a  wife,  and  he  put 
down  the  paper  with  a  sort  of  vague  surprise.  "What  a  fool 
he  was  to  kill  himself !" 

He  took  up  a  fashionable  journal,  and  sighed  impatiently 
as  he  skimmed  over  strings  of  titles  and  lists  of  entertain- 
ments; then  the  sensational  heading,  "Suicide  of  an  Officer," 
leaped  out  of  the  page  to  his  brooding  eye  once  more.  He 
perused  the  second  account  with  greater  interest  and  deliber- 
ation. It  was  more  detailed,  and  dwelt  with  gusto  on  the 
horror  of  the  spectacle,  the  grief  of  relatives  and  friends,  the 
strangeness  of  the  deed. 

"He  may  have  been  married  in  secret — a  low  marriage,  per- 
haps !"  thought  George,  working  round  again  to  his  fix«d  idea. 

Well,  if  he  were  to  leave  this  world,  he  must  do  it  in  an 
orderly  gentlemanly  fashion;  the  affairs  of  his  household 
must  be  arranged ;  his  accounts  paid ;  his  last  directions  writ- 
ten down  to  the  minutest  item.  It  was  an  interesting,  even 
amusing,  exercise  for  the  irritated  mind  to  think  out  the 
proper  manner  of  accomplishing  this,  and  to  picture  the  un- 
impeachable, systematic  state  in  which  George  Kerr's  affairs 
would  be  found  after  that  gentleman's  sudden  demise. 

Ballasted  with  a  definite  object  for  action  he  quitted  the 
club  in  a  mood  very  different  from  that  of  an  hour  ago ;  curi- 
ously placid,  gently  sad,  rather  superior  and  benevolent 
toward  mankind,  as  befits  one  who  now  has  it  in  his  indis- 
putable power  to  place  himself  beyond  the  reach  of  all  earthly 
disappointments. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  LAST  PIPE  OF  TOBACCO. 

With  great  deliberation  he  had  himself  shaved.  Then  he 
hailed  a  cabriolet  and  drove  off  to  his  solicitor,  from  whom, 
after  a  somewhat  lengthy  interview,  he  extracted  a  promise 
to  have  forwarded  to  his  house  early  next  morning  some 
fifteen  hundred  pounds,  drawn  upon  capital,  and  an  exact 
statement  of  his  financial  affairs.  The  man  of  law  was  filled 
with  the  gloomy  conviction  that  so  large  a  sum  could  be 
required  in  such  a  hurry  for  no  other  purpose  than  the  de- 
fraying of  some  gambling  debts. 

"I  hope  you  mean  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  Mr.  George,"  he 
said,  somewhat  severely,  as  his  client  rose  to  go.  "Yours  is 
a  tidy  little  property,  but  it  will  not  stand  many  years  of 
this  work." 

The  young  man  turned  round  from  tha  threshold  with  a 


The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco.  37 

pale  and  meaning  smile.  Oh,  yes,  he  was  going  to  turn  over 
a  new  leaf — that  very  day !  And  still  grimly  smiling  at  the 
thought,  he  jumped  again  into  his  cabriolet  and  gave  the 
driver  the  address  of  his  own  house. 

His  wife's  little  victoria  was  waiting  at  the  door,  and  the 
footman  stood  on  the  steps  with  a  rug  over  his  arm,  gaping 
at  his  master  as  the  latter  drew  up. 

A  chill  struck  over  George  as  once  more  he  entered  his 
home,  and  was  greeted  by  the  ring  of  his  wife's  voice  on  the 
stairs,  raised  in  angry  rebuke  to  her  maid.  Those  angry, 
overbearing  tones  which  Carmen's  voice — the  music  of  which 
had  once  been  so  sweet  to  him — could  assume  at  times,  had 
been  one  of  his  first  disenchantments. 

In  the  midst  of  his  self-centered  cogitations  he  stood 
amazed,  aghast!  Was  it  really  possible?  he  asked  himself 
in  utter  bewilderment.  Going  out !  She  was  actually  going 
out,  intent  as  ever  on  finery,  admiration,  amusement,  a  few 
hours  after  what  had  happened,  while  he 

The  thought  of  what  he  was  about  to  do  rose  before  him, 
vivid,  specterlike.  And  he  halted  on  the  threshold  of  his 
room,  paralyzed  in  awful  realization. 

Another  woman,  with  higher  ideals,  more  refined  organiza- 
tion, would  have  been  filled  with  contempt  for  the  man  who 
could  use  such  violence  to  a  woman,  were  she  not  depressed 
with  shame  and  remorse  for  having  brought  so  low  the  one 
whose  name  she  bore.  But  it  was  not  so  with  George's  wife. 
When  she  had  regained  some  calm,  the  thought  of  her  hus- 
band's passionate  outbreak,  ending  in  her  own  complete  de- 
feat and  subjugation,  was  recalled  as  a  stirring,  novel  experi- 
ence— fearful,  in  a  way,  to  look  back  upon,  but  not  without 
some  wild  savor. 

In  her  self-conceit,  she  never  doubted  but  that,  for  all  his 
threats,  he  loved  her  still;  never  doubted  but  that,  although 
she  had  angered  him  out  of  bounds,  the  moving  spirit  of  that 
Huger  had  been  his  mad  passion  for  her.  She  would  win  him 
back,  now,  by  everj--  fascination  and  art  she  could  devise.  Oh, 
the  triumph  of  bringing  once  more  to  her  feet  the  man  who 
had  meant  to  kill  her  in  his  rage !  And  again  the  joy  to  own 
herself  vanquished,  and  him  the  master,  after  all ! 

But  as  the  hours  wore  on  there  was  no  sign  of  his  re- 
turn, and  Carmen  found  herself  standing  by  the  window 
watching  every  passing  conveyance,  starting  at  every  bell 
with  her  heart  in  her  mouth,  now  angry,  now  frightened,  now 
on  the  point  of  tears.  There  arrived  opportunely  a  new  gown 
from  the  dressmaker.  She  must  try  it  on,  and  then  she 
would  drive.  She  would  be  back  in  time  to  see  George  before 
dinner.    In  a  renewed  access  of  good  spirits  she  was  pro- 


28  The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco. 

ceeding  down  the  stairs  to  her  carriage  even  as  her  husband 
entered  the  house.        ' 

His  hand  was  on  the  door  of  the  study  when  he  heard  the 
rustle  of  her  dress  approaching.  The  sound  conjured  up  a 
swift  bright  vision  of  the  past. 

Down  came  Carmen,  triumphant  in  the  newest  Paris 
fashion.  Perceiving  her  husband,  she  stopped  short  and  gave 
a  faint  cry.  Then,  with  an  effort,  she  descended  slowly  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  paused  again.  She  was  pale,  and, 
as  he  saw,  was  trembling.    Then,  with  a  very  forced  smile: 

"Well,  George  ?"  she  said,  almost  meekly. 

Her  whole  behavior  and  appearance  were  as  a  terrible  reve- 
lation to  his  guilty  conscience.  She  was  afraid  of  him,  poor 
silly  butterfly  thing,  fluttering  along  in  the  enjoyment  of  her 
beauty  and  bright  attire,  to  see  her  shrink  from  him  like 
that,  and  then  pitiably  try  to  conciliate  him  while  she  trem- 
bled at  the  bare  feeling  of  his  proximity!  It  brought  home 
to  him  more  than  ever  what  he  had  done — laid  his  strong 
hand  in  violence  on  a  woman.  With  a  sort  of  inward  groan, 
too  bitter  to  find  voice,  he  turned  and  rushed  into  his  study, 
leaving  Carmen  blankly  staring  at  the  closed  door. 

"He  is  still  angry,"  she  thought. 

Then  she  boldly  opened  the  door  of  his  study  and  popped 
her  head  in.  His  back  was  turned  to  her ;  he  was  staring  out 
of  the  window.  Something  in  the  commonplace  attitude  gave 
her  courage. 

"George!" 

He  turned  round  sharply  and  faced  her — ^pale,  silent,  for- 
bidding— looking  at  her  with  distant  gaze.  She  stammered, 
retreated,  and  finally,  in  desperation,  assuming  an  airy  tone, 
which  sounded  hideously  incongruous  to  his  ears : 

"Remember,  we  have  people  to  dinner  to-night,  and  after- 
ward the  opera.     I'm  going  out  now ;  good-by." 

He  heard  her  hasty  steps  across  the  hall,  the  banging  of  the 
house-door,  and  presently  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels  roll- 
ing away.  Then  he  laughed  aloud  in  bitter  mockery  of  him- 
self and  her.     Poor  Carmen ! — unlucky  woman ! 

"A  pistol  and  one  moment  of  firmness,"  he  muttered.  "Yes ; 
that  is  the  only  way  out  of  it." 

He  took  down  from  a  trophy  a  pair  of  richly-worked  Span- 
ish pistols,  that  of  the  old  Don's  wedding  gifts  which  had  best 
pleased  him,  and  tried  the  works  one  after  another.  But  as 
he  considered  their  graceful  shape  and  exquisite  ornamenta- 
tion before  loading,  a  sneer  came  upon  his  lips. 

"Bah !  they  are  too  beautiful  to  be  good  for  anything." 

He  replaced  the  weapons  and  unlocked  a  case  of  dueling 


The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco.  29 

pistols,  hair-triggered,  of  the  latest  pattern;  selected  one, 
loaded  it  carefully,  and  laid  it  on  his  writing  table. 

In  this  grim  company  he  spent  the  next  two  hours,  putting 
order  among  his  papers.  Since,  shortly  after  his  marriage. 
Carmen's  incompetence  had  forced  him  to  take  upon  himself 
the  management  of  the  household,  all  bills  and  accounts, 
whether  for  himself  or  his  wife,  were  left  in  his  room. 
Everything  was  at  hand,  therefore,  and,  after  some  determined 
work,  in  unimpeacheable  order. 

Then,  after  a  long  muse,  he  took  out  a  copy  of  his  will 
and  satisfied  himself  that  matters  lay  even  as  he  still  wished. 
The  tenor  of  that  document  was  of  the  simplest.  All  his 
assets  went  to  his  wife,  subject  to  some  trifling  legacies  and 
a  bequest  of  a  few  thousands  to  his  sister. 

With  the  money  that  he  expected  the  next  morning,  to  be 
employed  according  to  his  written  instructions,  he  considered 
that  all  debts  could  be  settled,  and  the  establishment  broken 
up  without  any  of  the  lamentable  confusion  which  generally 
follows  such  a  catastrophe  as  was  going  to  happen  in  his 
household. 

And  as  to  Carmen,  did  he  not  know  her  well  enough  to 
foresee  how  she  would  take  it  all  ?  After  the  first  shock,  the 
first  scenes  of  hysterics  and  lamentations,  she  would  not  be 
long  before  discovering  some  solace  in  her  lot.  She  would 
be  free,  the  sole  mistress  of  a  pretty  fortune,  probably  return 
to  Spain,  marry  again,  and  spend  very  happily  the  remainder 
of  this  brief  human  existence. 

"And  so  my  last  instant  has  come,"  he  thought,  dreamily 
taking  up  the  pistol,  and  slowly  pushing  the  hair-trigger 
back. 

The  sharp  click  struck  disagreeably  upon  his  jaded  nerves, 
and  with  a  sort  of  revulsion  he  paused,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

His  heart  ceased  beating,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  and  gently 
pulled  the  trigger. 

In  the  silence  of  his  awful  expectation  there  fell  the  sound 
of  another  sharp  click — that  was  all. 

George  opened  his  eyes,  dropped  his  hand  and  looked  round, 
faint  and  dazed. 

So  here  he  was,  alive. 

Heaving  a  deep  sigh,  and  intensely  irritated  at  the  thought 
of  having  experienced  all  this  emotion  uselessly,  he  rose,  and 
walked  over  to  the  window  to  examine  his  weapon.  The 
hammer  had  fallen  to  half-cock. 

Very  much  oppressed,  and  again  with  a  sickening  sensa- 
tion of  faintness,  he  dashed  up  the  casement  and  leaned  out 
for  a  breath  of  air.     His  groom  was  passing  down  the  path 


30  The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco. 

toward  the  stables,  puffing  vigorously  at  a  strong  clay  pipe. 
A  whiff  of  blue  smoke  floated  across  George's  nostrils. 

The  smell  of  the  tobacco  brought  a  dimly  soothing  sensation 
to  his  overstrained  nerves.  The  grateful  herb  was  an  old 
and  trusty  friend  to  him,  and  now  the  scent  evoked  a  sudden 
craving.  He,  too,  would  smoke  a  last  pipe  before  leaving 
this  world. 

A  short  clay  was  selected  from  the  rack.  This  he  filled 
slowly  and  with  an  earnest  countenance  lighted  it  and  sank 
back  in  his  favorite  arm-chair,  inhaling  the  sedative  fragrance 
and  stretching  his  weary  limbs. 

He  unconsciously  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  complete  relaxation 
of  mind.  He  had  ceased  to  suffer,  almost  ceased  to  think; 
his  eyes  listlessly  followed  the  curls  of  blue  vapor  in  their 
fantastic  rising  through  the  air,  while  he  mechanically  puffed 
what,  to  one  in  his  condition,  was  the  most  beneficent  of  es- 
sences. And  thus  by  degrees  he  fell  into  that  restful  state 
of  day-dreaming  when  ideas  meet  each  other  and  float  vaguely 
through  the  mind. 

"If  death  be  rest  like  this,  then  death  is  sweet  indeed — 
And  so  George  Kerr  is  dead,  poor  fellow!  Life  is  a  dream, 
changing,  inconsistent,  incomplete — of  which  the  whole 
meaning  vanishes  on  waking.  If  the  dream  is  pleasant,  then 
sleep  on  as  long  as  possible;  if  it  is  painful,  shake  yourseK, 
make  one  effort  and  wake." 

And  he  turned  his  eyes  lazily  toward  the  pistol,  and  sagely 
thought,  "No  hair-trigger  this  time !" 

But  he  was  so  tired  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  move,  and 
so  remained  passive,  while  again  his  thoughts  wandered  away 
in  the  blue. 

"And  yet  there  are  good  things  on  earth,  otherwise  no 
man  could  bear  to  live ;  there  are  dreams  within  dreams ;  how 
few  indeed  the  seeds  that  fall  on  congenial  ground;  how 
rarely  those  souls  meet  who  might  live  harmoniously  to- 
gether! Make  one  mistake,  take  one  wrong  turning,  and  a 
whole  life  is  spoiled.  What  use  in  experience,  save  to  show 
you,  too  late,  what  might  have  been  avoided  and  the  tram- 
mels that  never  can  be  shaken  off." 

He  puffed  again ;  the  pipe  was  out.  Regretfully  he  looked 
at  it,  wondering  whether  he  might  indulge  himself  in  an- 
other; but  the  tobacco  was  beyond  reach  on  the  mantel-shelf; 
the  pistol  was  still  farther  away.  He  fell  again  to  musing, 
contemplating  and  weighing  in  his  hand  the  tobacco-dyed 
clay. 

"I  should  have  liked  to  go  to  India  vnth  the  brave  fellows 
when  they  deal  with  those  murderous  devils." 

Here  he  mad*  an  effort  and  got  up ;  not  to  fetch  th*  pistol. 


The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco,  31 

however,  but — almost  mechanically — to  fill  his  pipe  again. 
"Pity  I  did  not  think  of  it  a  little  sooner;  perhaps  I  might 
have  worked  it,  and  been  even  now  with  the  old  corps ;  they 
would  have  welcomed  me  back,  no  doubt."  The  new  train 
of  thought,  leading,  as  it  did,  away  from  present  unpleasant 
combinations,  was  a  welcome  one ;  it  was,  therefore,  with  pro- 
portionate irritation  that  he  found  himself  recalled  to  the 
actual  ugly  state  of  things  by  a  discreet  tap  at  the  door,  ac- 
companied by  a  confidential  cough,  unmistakably  proceeding 
from  the  footman. 

"Come  in!"  he  cried  savagely.  "What  the  devil  do  you 
want  now?" 

A  fumbling  at  the  handle  reminded  him  that  he  had  locked 
himself  in,  and  he  strode  across  the  room  to  remove  the 
obstacle. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  stammered  the  man,  who  entered  with 
visible  embarrassment,  which  the  sight  of  the  open  pistol- 
case  and  its  scattered  contents  considerably  increased.  "Mrs. 
Kerr  has  come  in,  sir,  and  she  sent  me  to  remind  you  that 
there  is  company  to  dinner  to-night;  and  will  you  please  to 
give  me  the  key  of  the  cellar  for  to  get  out  the  champagne 
and  burgundy  ?" 

The  message  was  a  second  and  equally  feeble  attempt  on 
the  part  of  Carmen  to  provoke  an  interview,  if  possible  a 
reconciliation ;  but  to  George,  full  of  his  preconceived  ideas, 
it  was  but  another  gross  impertinence. 

His  first  movement  was  one  of  anger,  but  the  next  moment 
a  very  different  mood  was  upon  him. 

He  burst  out  laughing.  What  a  farce  it  all  was !  He  had 
been  going  to  shoot  himself  while  she  was  thinking  of  the 
champagne ! 

He  turned  to  his  desk  for  the  keys,  while  his  shoulders  still 
shook  with  vainly-suppressed  laughter. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  cried  good-naturedly,  tossing  the  bunch 
toward  the  man ;  "and  tell  Mrs.  Kerr  I  beg  to  be  excused  from 
dinner." 

That  laugh  did  George  good,  and  the  soothing,  grateful 
fumes  of  his  old  friend  had  begun.  What!  was  his  melan- 
choly madness  really  dissipating?  He  yawned  and  stretched 
himself,  and  looked  around  the  room. 

He  discovered  that  there  must  have  been  a  thunderstorm 
somewhere;  for  the  brooding  heat  of  the  day  was  replaced  by 
invigorating  freshness,  the  trees  in  the  little  garden  dripped 
with  glistening  rain  drops,  and  there  rose  up  a  delicious  scent 
of  damp  verdure  mingled  with  the  vague  fragrance  of  early 
summer  flowers. 

For  a  few  seconds  the  would-be  suicide  remained  lost  in 


3a  The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco. 

mute  enjoyment  of  the  sunset  hour,  seconds  during  which  the 
mere  fact  of  existence  was  sufficient  for  content.  Then  his 
mind  awoke  to  reflection. 

Here  a  clatter  of  plates  and  glasses,  as  the  footman  passed 
the  door  to  lay  the  table  in  the  adjoining  room,  recalled  his 
consideration  to  more  sublunary  matters — that  he  was  him- 
g^ry— prosaically,  ravenously,  absurdly  hungry. 

Calling  out  to  the  servant,  he  ordered  some  meat  and  bread 
to  be  immediately  brought  up  to  his  study,  together  with  a 
bottle  of  "that  burgundy." 

The  man,  delighted  to  see  his  master  reverting  to  more 
human  instincts,  and  flattered  by  the  unwonted  familiarity, 
hastened  to  lay  the  cloth  on  a  card-table,  which  he  covered 
with  a  substantial  spread. 

George  sat  down  with  a  serious  but  much  less  meditative 
countenance,  and  opened  immediate  relations  with  the  an- 
cient bottle. 

He  was  half-way  through  his  repast  when  the  sound  of 
people  moving  into  the  dining-room  brought  him  back  to  the 
sense  of  his  incongruous  position. 

On  the  other  side  of  that  wall  his  wife  was  entertaining 
guests  whose  names  he  did  not  even  know,  while  he,  the 
master  of  the  house — unnoticed,  unmissed — ^partook  of  his 
improvised  meal  in  the  solitude  of  the  back  chamber.  , 

"Well,"  he  communed  with  himself,  "I  have  not  shot  my- 
seK,  after  all,  and  it  is  perhaps  a  good  thing;  I  am  not  going 
to,  either,  that  seems  pretty  certain."  This,  filling  his  third 
glass.  "Now  what  am  I  going  to  do?  The  state  of  affairs 
that  has  so  nearly  made  a  corpse  of  me  cannot  be  risked 
again.  No ;  from  this  moment  the  sort  of  life  I  have  led  here 
is  over.     I  drink  to  a  better  one,  whatever  it  is  to  be." 

He  rose  from  the  table  and  again  sought  his  arm-chair; 
not  to  muse  this  time,  but  to  reflect  with  all  the  earnestness 
and  intelligence  of  his  eager  mind  on  the  possibility  of  start- 
ing on  a  fresh  journey  in  life,  free  and  unhampered  by  a  sin- 
gle tie  of  the  cM  existence — alone  in  the  world  again. 

George  Kerr  was  dead.  The  chance  thought  was  taking 
root,  and  rapidly  growing  into  shape.  Why  not  let  it  b«  so  ? 
It  was  BO  fault  of  his  if  George  Kerr's  death  was  not  an  ac- 
complished fact;  but  for  the  most  unforeseen  of  hazards, 
George  would  now  be  of  this  life  no  more. 

Life  in  the  future  must  be  out  of  England;  nay,  across 
the  ocean.  The  old  world  was  no  place  for  his  new  career; 
he  must  have  fresh  fields,  fresh  motives,  a  new  birth,  as  it 
were.    Above  all,  he  must  be  unknown. 

"No  one  will  miss  me  much.  As  to  poor  Susie,  she  is  so 
wrapped  up  in  her  parson  and  her  chicks  that,  however  she 


The  Last  Pipe  of  Tobacco,  33 

may  fret  at  first,  the  hundred  a  year  she  will  gain  by  my 
death  will  be  more  useful  to  her  than  her  good-for-nothing 
brother." 

He  must  choose  some  perfectly  definite  mode  of  death,  and 
so  act  as  to  appear  to  the  most  critical  to  have  perished 
thereby.  Death  by  drowning,  then,  alone,  could  answer  his 
purpose  and  excite  no  suspicion.  An  accident,  a  boat  on  the 
river — better  still,  at  sea ;  body  lost,  but  boat  recovered. 

It  was  best,  too,  that  for  the  world  at  large  his  demise 
should  have  the  appearance  of  being  accidental. 

He  would  be  poor,  of  course ;  but,  with  the  money  to  arrive 
next  morning  from  the  solicitors,  rich  enough  for  his  energy. 
What  a  happy  thing  had  been  that  quixotic  notion  of  his  to 
leave  his  widow  so  large  a  sum  in  hand ! 

Satisfied  with  the  arrangement  of  matters  so  far,  he  emp- 
tied his  bottle  with  much  relish,  and  went  out  to  develop, 
under  the  silent  trees  of  Berkeley  Square,  in  so  far  as  was 
now  possible,  the  most  minute  details  of  his  scheme.  Later 
in  the  evening  he  returned  with  every  particular  clearly  set- 
tled in  his  head. 

Tired  out  by  all  the  harassing  emotions  and  fatigue  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours,  he  flung  himself  on  a  camp-bed  in 
his  dressing-room,  and  slept  heavily  and  dreamlessly  till 
morning. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  Carmen  returned  from  the 
theatre.  The  maid,  who  waited  in  her  room,  longing  for  the 
hour  of  her  release  to  bed,  heard  lootsteps  coming  up  the 
stairs — so  heavy,  wearied,  lagging,  she  could  scarcely  believe 
that  they  were  those  of  her  mistress,  who  was  wont  to  trip  in 
so  lightly. 

Still  more  surprised  was  she  to  mark  the  depression  of 
manner,  the  strange  gentleness,  unprecedented  in  the  usually 
irascible  Spaniard.  In  all  the  time  she  had  been  in  Mrs. 
Kerr's  service  she  had  never  known  that  mood. 

When  the  duties  for  the  night  were  accomplished,  and  she 
was  about  to  retire.  Carmen  called  her  back. 

"Mr.  Kerr,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  hesitation,  "is  he  out  ?" 

"Oh  no,  madam !"  retorted  the  maid  cheerfully.  "Mr.  Kerr 
has  gone  to  bed  in  his  dressing-room,  and  has  not  stirred 
since  eleven." 

Carmen  tossed  her  head  and  flushed. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  she  said  sharply.    'TLeave  me." 

Alone,  she  stamped  her  foot  with  the  petulance  of  a 
thwarted  child;  then  she  knocked  a  chair  down,  coughed, 
rustled  her  dress — all  in  vain. 

She  bent  her  pretty  ear  to  listen  at  the  door;  nothing  but 
the  sound  of  the  regular  breathing  within  broke  the  stillness. 


34     The  Seafoam  Birth  of  David  Fargus. 

The  daylong  effort  of  acting  indifference  had  tired  her. 
She  had  no  wish  to  thwart  him  more;  she  would  be  humble. 
She  only  wanted  to  be  forgiven,  but  a  strange  diffidence  kept 
her  from  him.  lie  had  dined  by  himself  in  his  room,  he 
had  retired  without  seeing  her,  and  was  now  sleeping — sleep- 
ing while  she  cried. 

Now  and  then  she  would  hold  her  breath  and  again  listen. 
Surely  George  would  hear  her,  would  feel  she  was  miserable, 
ay,  that  she  was  repentant,  and  he  would  hasten  to  her,  over- 
come with  remorse;  with  the  old  tenderness,  the  old  caresses, 
she  now  yearned  for  so  passionately. 

At  last,  in  an  agony  of  sobs,  burying  her  face  in  the  pillow 
to  shut  out  the  darkness  of  her  solitude,  she  cried  herself  to 
sleep. 

On  what  trivial  events  does  the  course  of  a  whole  life  de- 
pend. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  SEAFOAM   BIRTH    OF   DAVID  FARGUS. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  George  entered  the 
Old  Quebec  Hotel,  Portsmouth.  That  old-fashioned  and  dingy 
hostelry  was  associated  in  his  mind  with  the  brightest  epoch 
of  his  life.  Here,  new  to  the  delights  of  his  new-found  in- 
dependence, to  the  soul-stirring  prospect  of  active  service, 
he  had  spent  the  night  previous  to  his  embarkation  for  the 
Crimea  in  the  company  of  a  brace  of  ensigns  recently  joined 
like  himself. 

But  it  was  from  no  sentimental  attachment  to  the  past 
that,  at  so  critical  a  moment,  he  chose  to  return  to  that  well- 
remembered  haunt,  but  because  its  position  at  the  entrance  of 
the  harbor  was  best  suited  to  his  plans. 

After  depositing  his  luggage  and  ordering  a  good  dinner  to 
be  ready  in  an  hour's  time,  he  sauntered  along  the  quay  of 
the  Camber  toward  the  Logs  to  look  for  and  engage  a  likely 
craft  for  his  strange  purpose. 

An  ancient  mariner  instantly  woke  up  to  the  prospect  of 
business. 

"Nice  evening  for  a  sail,  sir.  Tidy  little  boat  there  of 
mine;  take  you  round  the  harbor  in  no  time." 

"Which  is  your  boat?"  asked  George,  pausing;  then, 
thoughtfully  surveying  the  one  indicated,  which  in  truth 
seemed  as  good  as  any  he  would  be  likely  to  find:  "Do  you 
think  it  coi^d  take  me  across  to  the  island  to-night  and  bring 
me  back  to-morrow  momipg?" 


The  Seafoam  Birth  of  David  Fargus.     35 

"Couldn't  find  a  better  sailing  boat  in  the  harbor.  I'll 
bring  her  round  in  a  jiffy." 

"Stop  a  minute,  my  man !"  cried  George ;  "I  can't  start  for 
a  couple  of  hours  at  least;  but  if  you  will  take  her  round  to 
the  harbor  about  six  o'clock  you  may  come  and  fetch  me  at 
the  Quebec." 

"Right,  sir,  shall  I  bring  my  son  to  look  after  the  boat  ?" 

"I  want  no  one.     I  shall  sail  her  myself." 

"Well,  you  see,  sir " 

"Well,  my  good  man,  I  fear  your  boat  will  not  suit  me  if 
you  object  to  trusting  it  to  me.  I  want  particularly  to  be 
alone;  and  if  I  can  manage  a  boat  myself,  I  can  pay  for  it, 
too!" 

"All  right,  sir,  all  right!  No  offense;  I  only  want  to 
oblige;  some  gents  like  to  have  a  man  to  mind  the, boat.  I 
shall  have  her  round  at  six.     Good-day,  sir." 

George  returned  to  his  hotel  and  ate  his  dinner  with  the 
consciousness  of  one  who  knows  that  his  physical  energies  will 
soon  be  severely  taxed ;  drank  his  pint  of  port,  then  repaired 
to  his  own  room  and  seated  himself  on  the  sill  of  the  bow- 
window  to  ruminate.  _ 

And  so  this  was  the  last  day — indeed,  the  last  few  hours — 
that  remained  to  him  to  spend  under  the  old  personality. 
That  night  George  Kerr  would  sink  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
and  disappear  forever  from  the  list  of  English  subjects,  while 
in  the  room  of  that  unlucky  being  would  rise  one  David 
Fargus.  David  Fargus,  for  the  nonce  passenger  to  the  New 
World ;  where  to  in  particular  the  future  to  decide. 

That  morning,  in  London,  he  had  risen  early  and  ordered 
the  astonished  James  to  pack  up,  noiselessly  so  as  not  to  wake 
Mrs.  Kerr,  the  few  necessaries  sufficient  for  a  couple  of  days' 
outing.  Before  leaving  the  house  he  had  withdrawn  a  hmi- 
dred  pounds  from  the  money  that  Perkins,  faithful  to  his 
promise,  had  already  sent  by  a  confidential  messenger,  and 
placed  that  sum  in  an  envelope,  together  with  his  written 
directions  that  all  his  personal  debts,  as  per  list  inclosed, 
should  be  paid  therewith.  To  this  he  had  further  attached  his 
solicitor's  statement,  addressed  the  whole  to  his  wife,  and  left 
it  in  the  drawer  of  his  writing-table. 

The  remainder  of  the  notes,  with  all  the  loose  cash  he  had 
in  the  house,  he  had  taken  with  him.  Having  thus  finally 
settled  everything  to  his  satisfaction,  he  had  driven  to  the 
station,  stopping,  however  on  his  way,  at  a  suitable  shop  to 
purchase  a  certain  bag  of  water-tight  material,  which  was  to 
play  an  important  part  in  his  scheme  of  supposed  accidental 
death. 

This  bag  he  now  took  out  of  his  portmanteau  and  care* 


36     The  Seafoam  Birth  of  David  Fargus. 

fully  packed  with  a  complete  suit  of  clothes  and  change  of 
linen,  towels,  etc.,  not  forgetting  a  flask  of  old  brandy.  All 
these  articles  together  barely  half  filled  it,  but  he  nevertheless 
tied  the  mouth  with  minute  precautions. 

"There  1  it  is  water-tight,  I  hope.  Rather  heavy,  but  it  will 
float  easily  enough ;  it  might  even  play  the  part  of  a  life-buoy 
on  emergency,"  thought  he,  as  he  mentally  compared  its 
weight  with  its  bulk.  Then,  spreading  out  a  quantity  of 
banknotes,  gold,  and  silver,  on  the  table,  he  proceeded  to 
count : 

"One  thousand  three  hundred  and  ninety  poimds  notes; 
seven  pound  ten  gold ;  eleven  and  seven  pence  small  cash — the 
capital  of  David  Fargus,  Esquire ;  about  equal  to  one  year  of 
George  Kerr's  income.  Not  much,  perhaps;  but  more  than 
enough  for  that  valiant  soldier  of  fortune !" 

The  notes  were  carefully  wrapped  in  oiled  silk,  and,  to- 
gether with  the  cash  and  his  watch,  placed  in  a  money-belt 
which  he  wore  next  to  the  skin. 

These  preparations  finished,  he  took  out  some  note-paper 
with  his  crest  and  address,  sat  down  to  the  writing  table,  and, 
after  a  few  minutes'  reflection,  indited  his  last  letter  to  his 
wife: 

"The  Quebec  Hotel,  Portsmouth.. 

"Carmen:  After  what  happened  two  nights  ago,"  so  ran 
the  docimient,  "you  will  hardly  be  astonished  at,  nor,  I  sup- 
pose, regret,  the  step  which  I  have  taken.  Life  with  you  has 
become  impossible.  Your  behavior  is  such  as  no  man  could 
ever  forgive.  But  I  am  too  sick  at  heart  even  to  wish  to 
punish  you,  and  since,  as  you  said  yourself  on  that  eventful 
night  when  J  was  able  fully  to  understand  your  true  character, 
you  would  lose  your  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  world — that 
was  all  you  thought  of — if  I  sent  you  away  from  me,  I  have 
taken  all  my  measures  to  prevent  reproach  falling  on  you. 

"Every  one  will  believe  in  the  'accident'  you  will  hear  of. 

"I  leave  you  to  seek  your  happiness  in  the  path  you  have 
chosen;  you  are  now  mistress  of  your  own  life,  but  you  may 
thank  your  fate  that  we  have  no  children,  or  I  could  not  thus 
give  you  your  liberty  and  the  untrammeled  possession  of  my 
fortune.  Fare  you  well.  Carmen ;  I  make  you  no  reproaches ; 
at  the  moment  of  parting  forever  they  would  be  idle.  I  hope 
sincerely  that  you  may  still  find  happiness  on  earth,  though 
you  could  not  find  it  with  me.  George  Kerr." 

"P.  S. — I  left  my  last  directions  with  a  sum  of  money  in  the 
drawer  of  my  writing  table." 

The  old  resentment  had  burned  within  him  hotly  as  he 
wrote,  and  as  he  read  the  letter  over  it  did  not  strike  him  as 


The  Seafoam  Birth  of  David  Fargus,     37 

too  harsh.    Directing  it  to  Charles  street,  he  sealed  it  care- 
fully with  his  signet-ring  and  went  out  to  post  it  himself. 

As  he  returned  he  found  his  boatman  waiting  for  him,  this 
time  in  a  very  conciliating  mood. 

The  sack,  carefully  concealed  in  the  folds  of  a  great-coat  so 
as  to  look  like  a  bundle  of  rugs,  George  carried  himself  to  the 
boat,  then  shoved  off,  set  his  sail,  and,  under  the  breath  of  a 
fresh  northeast  breeze,  nimbly  slid  away  on  his  curious  expe- 
dition, while  the  boat  proprietor  gazed  after  him  with  a 
critical  air  and  condescending  approval  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  Londoner  steered  and  tacked,  until  the  boat 
rounded  Block  House  Point  and  disappeared. 

The  solitary  sail  at  the  sunset  hour  on  that  superb  road- 
stead, so  typical  of  England's  greatness,  was  impressive  and 
melancholy.  And  George  felt  the  sadness  of  it  all  steal  round 
his  young  heart. 

"What!  qualms  already,  David  Fargus?  This  will  hardly 
do  when  the  hour  for  action  is  so  near,  and  we  have  to  kill  the 
body  of  George  Kerr  and  to  effect  the  transmigration  of  his 
soul  into  your  personality." 

His  scheme  was  tolerably  complete  already,  and  during  the 
long  hours  he  had  to  cruise  about  Spithead,  waiting  for  dark- 
ness to  set  in,  there  was  ample  opportunity  to  settle  all  details 
and  adapt  them  to  the  topographical  requirements  of  the  case. 

"Yes,"  thought  George,  as  he  turned  the  boat  toward  the 
glowing  west,"  that  patch,  for  instance,  where  the  gorse  creeps 
down  almost  to  the  water's  edge,  would  not  be  bad.  Nearly 
equidistant  between  the  two  coast-guards'  huts,  too.  Ah,  yes; 
hereabout  must  be  the  watery  grave  of  George  Kerr. 

Yet  another  hour  to  wait  and  the  tide  would  turn  outward — 
so  said  the  calendar — while  the  moon  would  not  rise  before 
ten.  At  the  turn  of  the  tide,  therefore,  should  the  plunge 
be  taken. 

The  tide  which  he  waited  for  would  take  the  boat,  when 
left  to  herself,  sufficiently  far  out  to  sea  to  afford  no  indica- 
tion of  the  place  of  the  supposed  accident. 

At  length  the  nine  strokes  of  the  hour  floated  away  on  the 
wings  of  the  night  air  from  some  old  church-steeple,  and 
George  nerved  himself  for  his  critical  task. 

His  boots  and  clothes,  strapped  into  a  tight  parcel  and 
weighted,  were  dropped  overboard.  When  he  had  ascertained 
that  they  had  duly  sunk,  he  threw  the  buoyant  bag  on  the 
water,  felt  if  his  money-belt  was  secure,  placed  his  foot  on  the 
gunwale,  and  noiselessly  capsized  his  craft. 

The  icy  mantle  had  hardly  closed  round  his  shoulders  when 
he  began  to  wish  he  had  sailed  in  closer  to  the  shore  before 
paaking  the  plunge. 


$8      The  Seafoam  Birth  of  David  Fargus. 

He  breasted  the  dark  waves  with  methodical  vigor,  all  his 
energy,  mental  and  physical,  fixed  upon  the  task.  Yet  the 
twenty  minutes  he  had  allowed  himself  as  its  outside  duration 
elapsed,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  have  advanced  much  closer 
to  the  somber  line  that  represented  the  coast. 

In  the  old  times  George  had  excelled  in  swimming,  as  in 
most  forms  of  athleticism,  but  the  lazy  life  led  since  his  mar- 
riage, and  especially  the  worry  and  fatigue  of  the  last  days, 
had  lowered  his  powers  more  than  he  could  suspect.  After 
another  immense  effort  to  increase  his  pace,  he  felt,  with 
horror,  that  his  strength  was  giving  way.  At  length,  but 
some  twenty  yards  from  the  shore,  he  ceased  to  make  any 
headway,  at  all,  and  floated  helplessly  at  the  m.ercy  of  the 
current. 

The  time  he  had  alloted  for  the  ordeal  had  already  merged 
into  twice  its  length,  the  periods  of  deadly  oblivion  were  grow- 
ing more  frequent,  more  prolonged ;  had  it  not  been  for  this 
buoyant  bag,  to  which,  all  unconsciously,  he  clung  with  vmre- 
laxing  grasp,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  David  Fargus' 
career  would  have  proved  a  short  one  indeed.  But  all  at  once 
a  sharp  pain  in  the  knees  recalled  his  wandering  senses.  The 
conflicting  tides,  which  at  that  part  run  parallel  to  the  shore, 
had  brought  him  far  away  from  his  intended  landing-point; 
but  friendly  they  had  been,  and  had  thrown  him  on  the  strand 
at  last. 

The  joy  of  feeling  the  solid  earth  again,  and  the  violent 
pain  in  his  limbs,  restored  his  waning  energy;  he  gathered 
together  all  his  strength  for  one  last  exertion  and  struggled  up 
on  the  beach. 

Shivering,  almost  palsied;  for,  colder  even  than  the  water, 
every  pulse  of  the  breeze  cut  into  his  benumbed  nakedness 
like  a  knife ;  he  staggered  along  the  shingle  in  search  of  some 
sheltering  nook,  fearful  of  awakening  the  attention  of  chance 
watchers — coastguards  or  sentries — for,  towering  on  his  right, 
rose,  black  against  the  starry  sky,  the  walls  of  old  Fort  Monck- 
ton. 

As  he  expected,  he  came  upon  a  suitable  nook  at  the  head  of 
the  Kaponier,  offering  all  imaginable  advantages  under  the 
circumstances;  a  screen  from  the  blast,  and  especially  from 
the  inquisitiveness  of  any  flying  sentry  who  might  take  it  into 
his  head  to  cast  a  glance  over  the  parapet ;  and,  what  was  not 
to  be  despised  by  a  man  numbed  almost  to  rigidity,  steps  to  sit 
upon. 

Painfully  opening  the  faithful  bag  with  stiffened  fingers, 
he  first  brought  out  the  flask  and  took  a  long  draught  of  its 
contents,  which  coursed  through  his  system  like  fire,  and 
gave  a  welcome  fillip  to  the  exhausted  heart  j  then,  wonder- 


The  Rev.  Hillyard  Gamers  Documents.    39 

fully  invigorated,  found  his  towels  and  fell  to  rubbing  him- 
self with  increasing  energy,  and  so  gradually  brought  some 
warmer  movement  into  his  circulation. 

"And  now  the  transmigration  is  effected!"  His  spirits 
mounted  to  a  sense  of  triumph  in  the  glow  of  reaction — and 
felt  as  though  it  were  indeed  a  new  life  pulsing  through  his 
veins.  "Here  is  David  Fargus,  risen,  like  a  son  of  Neptune, 
from  the  foam  of  the  sea,  drying  his  dripping  hair  in  the 
darkest  comer  of  an  antiquated  piece  of  fortification — a 
quaint  birthplace,  truly!" 

By  this  time  he  was  dressed  in  the  rough  blue  suit  he  had 
provided  for  himself,  with  light  shoes  on  his  feet  and  a  yacht- 
ing cap  on  his  head.  He  folded  his  life-saving  bag,  pocketed 
his  flask,  and  clambered  gayly  again  on  to  the  glacis. 

Making  straight  for  the  lights  of  the  little  village  of  Alver- 
stoke,  through  the  gorse,  he  soon  came  upon  a  hedged  lane, 
which,  upon  inquiry  of  a  passer-by,  he  learned  led  to  the  high- 
road. This  he  tramped  vigorously  along,  avoiding  the  town 
for  fear  of  some  remote  possibility  of  recognition. 

Three  days  later  the  brave  steamship  Columhia  was  cleaving 
through  the  waters  of  Southampton  Harbor,  outward  bound. 

Smoking  his  pipe  on  the  fore-deck  and  perusing  with  much 
interest  the  graphic  account  given  by  some  local  paper  of  the 
melancholy  death  by  drowning  of  one  Mr.  G.  Kerr,  of  Lon- 
don, sat  Mr.  David  Fargus,  second-class  passenger  to  Vera 
Cruz. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  REV.  ROBERT  HILLYARD  GARNERS  DOCUMENTS. 

The  Rev.  Robert  Hillyard  sat  in  his  study  apparently  read- 
ing, in  reality  brooding  over  the  difficulties  of  adapting  a 
small  income  to  the  requirements  of  a  large  family,  when 
Susie  came  into  the  room,  her  pretty  worn  face  full  of  trouble, 
the  last  baby  on  her  arm,  and  an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Please  read  it,  Robert,"  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice.  "I 
am  afraid  something  is  wrong." 

Then  she  put  the  baby  on  the  floor  to  creep,  cast  herself 
down  on  a  chair,  stretched  out  her  arms  over  her  husband's 
desk,  and  broke  into  tears  and  sobs. 

Her  George!  her  darling  George! 

The  curate  kindly  laid  his  thin  hand  on  her  sunny  hair,  and 
kept  it  there  while  he  read  the  letter,  characteristically,  with- 
out stopping  to  ask  her  for  an  explanation. 

It  was  written  in  a  wild,  irregular  hand,  and  worded  so  con- 


40     the  Rev.  Hillyard  Garners  Documents. 

fusedly  that  he  had  to  peruse  it  twice  over  before  he  could 
gather  any  definite  meaning  therefrom. 

"I  write  to  you,"  it  began  abruptly,  "because  I  do  not-  know 
who  else  to  turn  to,  or  what  to  do.  Your  brother  George  has 
left  me,  and  he  says  he  means  to  kill  himself.  I  am  the  most 
miserable  and  guilty  of  women.  Come  at  once  and  I  will  show 
you  the  dreadful  letter.  You  will  perhaps  know  what  to  do. 
If  George  is  dead,  you  will  say  it  is  my  fault.  I  know  I  have 
done  wrong,  but  God  is  my  witness  how  I  now  repent. 
"Your  distracted  and  unhappy  sister, 

"Carmen." 

The  curate  put  the  letter  carefully  in  his  pocket,  and  turned 
to  his  wife  with  a  few  words  of  comfort. 

Pitying  her  suspense,  he  formed  the  prompt  decision  of  tak- 
ing the  next  train  to  town  and  ascertaining  himself  the  state 
of  affairs.  This,  and  the  hope  that  matters  were  really  not 
so  bad  as  they  might  seem,  did  a  little  to  stop  the  flow  of 
Susie's  tears. 

Then  she  had  to  pack  a  bag  for  the  curate  and  get  him 
something  to  eat  before  he  started,  and  collect  all  their  avail- 
able funds  to  give  him — very  little  it  was ;  such  a  journey  was 
to  them  a  terrible  outlay.  As  soon  as  this  was  accomplished, 
and  she  stood  by  her  husband's  chair,  watching  him  hastily 
swallow  his  poor  meal,  she  had  recovered  her  usual  calm 
exterior. 

"Robert,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "what  does  she  mean  by 
guilty?" 

"We  cannot  tell,  my  dear,"  said  the  curate  gently;  then  he 
kissed  her  and  walked  off  to  the  station. 

When  some  three  hours  later  he  stopped  before  the  little 
green  door  of  3a  Charles  street,  and  glanced  at  the  bright 
boxes  of  geranium  in  the  windows,  the  red  blinds,  the  fresh 
paint  on  the  walls,  he  could  not  help  contrasting  in  his  own 
mind  the  gay  outward  appearance  of  the  house  with  the 
tragedy  he  expected  to  hear  of  within  its  walls. 

His  first  act  was  to  walk  to  the  window  and  pull  up  the 
blinds,  regardless  of  the  figure  reclining  on  the  sofa,  which  at 
his  entrance  had  immediately  raised  a  handkerchief  to  its 
eyes  and  given  vent  to  a  faint  sob.  He  was  determined  to 
fulfill  the  unpleasant  task  he  had  taken  upon  himself  to  the 
best  of  his  power. 

He  took  a  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her.  The  vision  of 
almost  startling  beauty  she  presented  to  his  gaze,  heightened 
rather  than  obscured  by  the  sweeping  folds  of  black  lace  vnth 
which  she  was  enveloped,  failed  to  strike  him  otherwise  than 
again  unfavorably.    Nevertheless,  his  tone  was  kind  as  he  ad- 


The  Rev.  Hillyard  Garners  Documents.   41 

dressed  her,  although  the  sense  of  the  terrible  importance  of 
the  hour  filled  it  with  a  solemnity  which  alarmed  her. 

"Mrs.  Kerr,"  he  said,  "I  have  come  to  see  how  I  can  help 
you ;  but,  if  you  wish  me  to  be  able  to  be  of  any  real  use,  you 
must  tell  me  everything  without  reserve.  Have  you  heard 
nothing  of  George  since  the  letter  you  wrote  about,  and  which 
contained  such  a  terrible  threat?" 

Carmen  shook  her  head  without  speaking. 

"Then  I  must  see  this  letter  first  of  all ;  where  is  it  ?" 

She  pointed  to  an  envelope  on  her  dressing-table. 

Mr.  Hillyard  took  it  and  went  to  the  window,  where  he 
perused  its  contents  with  a  face  which  grew  sterner  every 
moment,  while  Carmen  watched  him  apprehensively  and  felt 
her  fears  increasing  to  positive  terror. 

After  a  pause  Mr.  Hillyard  turned  slowly  round  and  looked 
at  her  with  a  searching  condemning  gaze. 

"There  can  be  no  doubt,  Mrs.  Kerr,  that  your  husband 
accuses  you  of  conduct  which  has  driven  him  to  contemplate 
suicide.  Let  us  hope,  in  God's  mercy,  that  he  has  stopped  on 
the  brink  of  such  a  crime,  though  he  seems  to  be  terribly  in 
earnest.    When  did  you  receive  this  letter?" 

"The  day  before  yesterday." 

"And  you  have  done  nothing — sent  no  one  after  him? 
This  letter  is  dated  Portsmouth ;  why  did  you  not  go  there 
yourself  ?  a  timely  effort  on  your  part  might  have  averted  the 
calamity;  he  even  gave  you  his  address;  how  do  you  know 
that  he  may  not  have  been  almost  hoping  for  some  explanation 
— an  act  of  repentance  from  you  ?  At  least  you  might  have 
written  instantly  to  his  elder  brother  or  to  us." 

"I  don't  know;  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  I  thought 
George  would  be  sure  to  come  back;  that  he  wanted  to 
frighten  me.  But  I  have  heard  nothing  since;  oh!  what  shall 
I  do?" 

The  curate  leaned  against  the  chimney-piece,  wondering 
indeed  what  could  be  done  now.  He  contrasted  in  his  mind 
the  unfortunate  young  husband,  flying,  as  he  thought,  a  dis- 
honored home,  with  the  resolve  of  not  surviving  his  shame, 
and  the  guilty  wife,  lounging  on  her  cushions  by  the  fire  in 
comparative  apathy. 

It  was,  therefore,  in  a  hard  tone  that,  after  a  lengthy  pause, 
he  requested  her  to  narrate  exactly  the  events  which  had  led  to 
this  climax,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  impatient  incredulity 
that  he  listened  to  Carmen's  limited  view  of  the  whole  affair. 
That  any  young  man  should  threaten  to  destroy  himself 
merely  because  he  did  not  like  living  in  London  was  too  pre- 
posterous an  idea  to  be  entertained  for  a  minute;  such,  how- 
ever, was  the  gist  of  her  narrative,  for  the  simple  reason  that 


42     The  Rev.  Hillyard  Gamers  Documents. 

she  herself  was  incapable  of  seeing  any  deeper  motive  in  their 
periodical  altercations.  And  as  she  recapitulated  them  her 
natural  combativeness  gradually  assumed  the  mastery.  The 
very  querulousness  of  her  tone  more  than  ever  convinced  him 
that  this  woman  must  indeed  be  guilty  of  some  unavowed 
misbehavior. 

With  great  indignation  he  at  length  got  up,  and,  holding  out 
the  letter  and  angrily  tapping  it  with  his  foiger : 

"In  my  opinion,  Mrs.  Kerr,"  he  cried,  "your  conduct  is 
inexpressibly  shocking.  With  this  letter  before  you — the  last, 
probably,  that  the  man  to  whom  you  have  joined  your  life 
before  God  will  ever  have  written,  and  in  which,  indeed,  his 
principal  thought  seems  to  be  that  of  sparing  you  merited 
sorrow  and  shame — you  can  still  give  way  to  these  recrimina- 
tions, hedge  yourself  in  this  useless  reserve.  All  that  you  told 
me  is  perfectly  inadequate  to  explain  the  despair  of  my  poor 
Susie's  brother,  once  the  gayest,  the  most  open-hearted  fellow 
that  ever  lived !  At  your  own  call  I  have  come  to  help  you, 
and  to  help  him,  if  it  be  God's  will ;  but  this  I  insist  on — it  is 
indispensable  to  success — ^you  must  tell  me  the  offense  your 
husband  distinctly  accuses  you  of.  My  character  as  a  gentle- 
men and  a  clergyman  ought  to  satisfy  yon  that  any  confidence 
will  be  sacred,  and  that  I  shall  comply  with  George's  generous 
wish  that  you  should  be  spared  all  exposure." 

At  these  words,  at  what  she  thought  was  wilful  and  insult- 
ing misapprehension,  the  anger  which  had  been  gathering  in 
Carmen's  heart  during  the  last  minutes  burst  forth. 

She  glared  at  him  fiercely,  and,  getting  up  in  her  turn, 
"Mr.  Hillyard,"  she  cried,  "I  did  beg  for  help  from  a  friend, 
but  you  would  come  here  as  a  priest.  You  are  no  priest  in 
my  eyes.  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you.  Under  the  hypocritical 
pretense  of  helping  me  in  my  dreadful  trouble,  you  would 
merely  try  to  worm  out  secrets  that  have  no  existence.  Why 
did  not  Susie  come?  She  would  not  be  so  cruel;  she  would 
have  advised  me  and  consoled  me.  But  since  you  will  do 
nothing  but  insult  me,  you  may  leave  me !" 

She  sank  back  on  her  sofa,  sulking,  while  the  curate,  be- 
wildered, stood  wondering  whether  he  was  indeed  making  a 
grievous  mistake,  or  if  the  woman  before  him  was  really  the 
commonplace  sinner  he  had  imagined. 

Be  it  as  it  might,  he  resolved  to  waste  no  further  time  in 
fruitless  endeavors  to  obtain  reason  and  assistance  from  her, 
but  to  devote  all  his  energies  to  the  task  of  finding  out  for 
himself  what  coiiM  be  done  in  this  desperate  case. 

A  knock  at  the  door  stopped  him  as  he  was  about  to  take  his 
leave.    The  maid  entered  with  a  letter,  which  Carmen  seized, 


The  Rev.  Hillyard  Garners  Documents.    43 

opened  and  read  with  dilated  eyes.  All  color  fled  from  her 
cheeks ;  she  fell  on  her  knees  with  a  wild  scream. 

"It  is  true !"  she  sobbed.  "He  is  dead !  And  he  said  it  was 
I  who  forced  him  to  do  it.  .  .  .  What  does  it  mean  ?  Oh, 
my  beautiful  George !  can  you  prefer  death  to  me  ?" 

With  worst  forebodings,  Mr.  Hillyard  picked  up  and  read 
the  letter,  which  ran  thus: 

"The  Quebec  Hotel,  Portsmouth. 
"Sir  or  Madam:  A  gentleman,  who  gave  his  name  as  G. 
Kerr,  and  whose  portmanteau  bore  the  address  we  now  send 
this  letter  to,  came  to  this  hotel  on  Wednesday  afternoon  last. 
After  dinner  he  went  out  alone,  in  a  sailing  boat,  announcing 
his  intention  to  sail  over  to  Ryde  and  return  the  next  morn- 
ing. The  next  day,  however,  the  boat  in  which  he  had  gone 
out  was  discovered  some  distance  out  at  sea  capsized.  It  is 
greatly  feared — indeed,  it  is  only  too  probable — that  the  un- 
fortunate young  gentleman  has  met  with  a  fatal  accident,  as 
nothing  has  been  heard  of  him  since. 

"His  luggage  is  still  in  our  possession,  and  we  should  be 
much  obliged  by  receiving  instructions  as  to  what  we  are  to 
do  with  it.  The  proprietor  of  the  boat  also  has  a  claim  for 
damage  and  salvage  money. 

"We  are,  Sir  or  Madam, 

"Your  obedient  servants, 

"Lambkin  Brothers. 

"To  the  Occupier  of  No.  3a  Charles  street, 
"Berkeley  Square,  London." 

This  communication  removed  any  hope  or  doubt;  an  acci- 
dent which  has  been  announced  by  the  victim  in  one  letter, 
and  related  by  witnesses  in  another,  is  but  too  palpably  an 
accomplished  suicide.  The  curate  looked  at  Carmen ;  she  was 
rocking  herself  backward  and  forward  in  an  agony  of  tears. 
To  him  this  passionate  sorrow,  following  on  her  anger  and 
previous  apathy,  was  almost  incomprehensible;  yet  he  was 
touched  with  pity. 

"Mrs.  Kerr,"  he  said  more  gently,  as  he  placed  George's 
letter  and  that  of  the  landlord  in  his  pocket-book,  "I  shall 
immediately  go  down  to  Portsmouth  myself  and  see  what  can 
be  done.  I  regret  that  any  reproof  of  mine  should  have  added 
to  your  misery  at  such  a  moment.  The  best,  the  only  thing  I 
think  of  to  help  you  now,  is  to  take  on  myself  the  responsi- 
bility of  investigating  matters  and  carrying  out  George's  last 
wishes.  Therefore,  as  he  mentioned  in  his  letter  to  you  a 
packet  containing  directions  and  money  to  be  found  in  his 
study,  I  ask  your  permission  to  take  it.  I  shall  render  you 
later  an  account  of  the  trust." 


44     The  Rev.  Hillyard  Gamers  Documents. 

But  seeing  that  he  spoke  to  deaf  ears,  that  the  poor  creature- 
was  incapable  of  comprehending,  even  of  listening  to  him, 
Mr.  Hillyard,  thinking  it  cruel  to  abandon  her  in  such  a  con- 
dition to  the  mercy  of  servants,  resolved  to  pen  a  hurried  let- 
ter to  Susie  before  leaving  the  house. 

"Darling  Wife  (he  wrote)  :  I  fear  the  bad  news  is  but  too 
true;  I  am  just  off  to  Portsmouth,  where  the  dreadful  affair 
has  taken  place.  Useless  to  bid  you  hope.  Your  sister  seems 
in  a  terrible  plight.  I  cannot  make  her  out ;  but  the  one  thing 
is  certain,  that  she  wants  help  and  consolation.  Might  you 
not  come  up  and  see  her  through  it  ?    I  leave  all  this  to  you." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  gave  the  letter  to  be  posted  at  once. 
Then,  opening  George's  desk,  he  took  possession  of  the  papers 
indicated  and  hurried  away  to  the  station. 

It  was  very  late  that  night  when  he  arrived  at  Portsmouth ; 
he  was  received  with  much  satisfaction  at  the  Quebec,  where, 
no  better  tidings  awaited  him.  "The  gentleman  was  surely 
drowned,  though  his  body  might  never  be  found  in  such  a 
tideway." 

The  next  day  he  had  an  interview  with  the  boatman,  and 
was  still  further  confirmed  in  the  theory  of  premeditation  by 
the  old  man's  account  of  the  manner  in  which  George  had  in- 
sisted on  starting  alone  on  his  ill-fated  expedition.  As  a  wit- 
ness at  the  subsequent  official  inquiry,  Mr.  Hillyard  easily 
reconciled  it  with  his  conscience  to  keep  in  the  background 
all  he  knew  of  the  real  nature  of  the  accident,  and  the  verdict 
found  was,  in  consequence,  of  "Death  by  misadventure." 

Having  satisfied  all  claims  at  Portsmouth,  Mr.  Hillyard 
returned  to  London  and  went  to  the  solicitor,  with  whom  he 
had  a  consultation. 

He  found  Susie  at  Charles  street,  unremitting  in  her  atten- 
tions to  her  sister-in-law,  whose  violent  grief  was  no  doubt 
sincere,  and  whose  miserable  condition  removed  all  harsh  feel- 
ings from  Mrs.  Hillyard's  heart. 

George's  will  was  read,  all  debts  were  paid,  and  the  an- 
nouncement of  his  death  by  accident  inserted  in  the  Times. 

The  next  thing  to  be  setted  was  Carmen's  future.  One  of 
Mr.  Hillyard's  first  acts  on  arriving  at  Portsmouth  had  been 
to  write  to  Mr.  William  Kerr,  informing  him  of  all  he  knew, 
and  asking  for  his  advice.  He  was  too  well  acquainted  with 
the  family  pride  of  the  Kerrs  not  to  feel  sure  that  the  squire 
would  be  more  anxious  even  than  himself  to  keep  secret  the 
true  cause  of  his  brother's  death.  But  although  he  did  not 
anticipate  much  help  from  that  quarter,  he  was  nevertheless 
siirprised  at  the  utter  want  of  feeling  displayed  in  the  answer 
which  was  delivered  to  him  next  evening  at  Charles  street: 


Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr.     45 

"My  Dear  Robert  :  I  have  just  received  your  letter  of  the 
17th  inst.,  informing  me  of  my  step-brother's  miserable  end. 
Inexpressibly  shocking  as  such  news  must  be  to  me,  I  can 
hardly  say  that  I  am  surprised.  Neither  am  I  willing  to 
undertake  any  responsibility  whatsoever  in  the  matter. 

"When  my  step-brother  contracted  his  undesirable  alliance 
I  forbid  all  intercourse  between  him  and  us.  I  owe  it  to  my- 
self to  persist  in  this  course.  As  to  his  widow,  I  have  never 
recognized  her,  and  I  do  not  wish  even  to  inquire  into  the 
details  of  her  conduct.  I  regret  for  your  own  sake  that  you 
should  have  allowed  your  good-nature  to  draw  you  into  this 
disgraceful  business.  "Yous  sincerely, 

"William  Kerr  (of  Gilham)." 

All  Mr.  Hillyard's  manly  and  benevolent  feelings  were 
roused  by  this  narrow-minded  brutality,  and  he  irmnediately 
offered  the  shelter  of  his  own  house  to  Carmen,  who,  how- 
ever, declined  to  avail  herself  of  it,  announcing  her  intention 
to  return  to  her  father  as  soon  as  she  possibly  could,  and  press- 
ing the  moment  of  departure  with  feverish  haste. 

In  a  couple  of  days  more  the  Hillyards  returned  to  their 
quiet  home.  After  dinner,  as  they  sat  together  in  their  little 
dining-room,  Susie  observed  to  her  husband,  with  a  certain 
diffidence,  "Do  you  know,  dear,  I  don't  think  that  poor  woman 
is  so  much  to  blame  as  you  seem  to.  She  is  but  a  child  in 
mind.  I  believe  her  worst  sin  has  been  her  utter  inability  to 
enter  into  an  Englishman's  life,  especially  poor  George's." 

Robert  Hillyard  answered  nothing;  he  looked  very  grave, 
and  put  down  untasted  the  glass  he  was  raising  to  his  lips. 
For  nothing  in  the  world  would  he  have  dispelled  Susie's 
oiharitable  innocence.  As  she  looked  at  him  wistfully,  wait- 
ing for  his  verdict,  he  merely  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  said, 
"I  wish  there  were  more  women  like  you,  darling." 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

UNLOOKED-FOR   LEGACY   OF   GEORGE    KERR. 

May  again ;  a  bright  fresh  morning,  with  dappled  blue  sky 
— ^just  such  a  day  as  that  which  had  seen  the  transmigration 
of  George  Kerr's  soul  into  the  person  of  David  Faxgus,  three 
years  ago. 

Gazing  from  the  other  side  of  the  pavement  at  a  certain 
deserted-looking  little  house,  in  Charles  street,  Mayfair,  by 
pumber  3a,  apparently  absorb^  in  the  contemplation  of  an 


46     Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr. 

agent's  advertisement,  which  adorned  the  ground-floor  win- 
dows, stood  a  man  whose  still  young  face,  hardened  and 
weather-beaten,  gave  token  of  other  than  home  experiences. 

At  length,  rousing  himself  from  deep  abstraction,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  takes  a  sudden  resolve,  he  crossed  the  street 
and  rang  the  bell.  A  melancholy  looking  woman  of  the  genus 
caretaker  opened  the  door,  after  a  somewhat  lengthy  delay, 
and  requested  him  to  state  his  business. 

"I  see  this  house  is  to  be  let  furnished,  I  should  like  to  go 
over  it."  The  refined  voice  was  in  curious  contrast  with  the 
unfashionable  attire ;  the  woman  hesitated,  and  measured  him 
slowly  with  her  eye.    Had  he  an  agent's  card  ? 

No ;  the  stranger  had  been  merely  struck  with  the  house  as 
he  passed  by.    It  did  not  matter. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  won't  make  much  odds  for  once.  'Ouse 
is  a  nice  'ouse;  I'll  bring  you  through  it." 

She  led  the  way,  and  he  followed  across  a  small  tiled  hall 
into  a  room  on  the  right. 

"This  is  the  smoking-room,"  she  said,  and  fell  into  an  atti- 
tude of  patient  waiting. 

The  visitor  gazed  about  him  with  a  sort  of  dreamy  wonder. 
With  the  dust  and  grime  of  town  upon  everything,  changed 
though  they  were  for  the  worse,  every  item  of  the  surround- 
ings was  painfully  familiar.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  oaken 
writing-table  with  a  lingering  touch.  The  caretaker  looked 
at  him  with  unintelligent  wonder,  and  he  awoke  from  his 
dream  of  bygone  days. 

"Who  does  this  house  belong  to — now  ?" 

"It  belongs  now  to  Sir  Reginald  Vere,  sir;  he  bought  it, 
furniture  and  all,  from  the  former  howner,"  she  answered 
glibly  enough.  "That  is  to  say  on  that  gentleman's  death ;  it 
was  a  regular  tragedy,  I've  heard  tell — for  he  committed 
suicide!  Oh,  it  wasn't  here,  sir!  But  the  'ouse  is  a  nice 
'ouse,  and  I  can't  say  as  I  have  found  it  haunted." 

She  stopped  and  dragged  a  dirty  forefinger  through  the  dust 
of  the  table  beside  her. 

"Sir  Reginald  Vere,  he  didn't  seem  to  care  for  it,  somehow," 
she  continued,  after  a  slight  pause,  encouraged  by  her  visitor's 
silent  look  of  inquiry,  "and  the  tradespeople  say  as  how  Mrs. 
Kerr,  that's  the  widow  of  the  gentleman  as  made  away  with 
himself,  couldn't  get  out  of  it  soon  enough — though  that's  not 
surprising,  considering  she  had  his  death  on  her  conscience. 
She  went  to  Spain,  she  did.  I've  heard  them  say  she  was  a 
queer  one.  Anyhow,  she  took  on  av^ful — cried  herself  ill,  she 
did.  They  say  she  used  to  scream  o'  nights  that  his  ghost 
had  come  back.  But  I  can  only  say  /  haven't  seen  him,  an4 
I've  slept  here  alone  these  twelve  months  now." 


Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr.     47 

But  here  the  stranger  inteiTupted  the  slow,  monotonous 
trickle  of  words. 

"I  do  not  think  I  need  trouble  you  to  go  up-stairs ;  I  have 
seen  enough,  thank  you." 

The  woman  watched  him  as  he  strode  away  with  dull  satis- 
faction. 

"I  would  never  say  anything  against  the  place,  though  I 
think  the  'ouse  is  a  nice  'ouse,  and  ten  shilling's  a  week  is  ten 
shillings  a  week.  But  who  would  have  thought  a  big  strong 
man  like  that  would  be  frightened  away  by  the  fear  of 
ghosts !" 

So  Carmen  had  grieved;  the  theory  of  his  death  had  been 
sown  broadcast,  and  she  had  borne  the  odium  of  it  and  the 
sorrow. 

Were  it  even  only  for  ever  so  short  a  time,  were  she  per- 
haps now  happy,  consoled,  as  glad  of  George  Kerr's  death  as 
was  David  Fargus,  he  could  never  atone  for  the  wrong  he  had 
done  her. 

Conscience  smote  him  keenly;  failure  seemed  to  breathe 
upon  his  brilliant  scheme.  Ah,  how  harsh  had  been  that  last 
letter  of  his!  He  had  not  thought  of  her  enough.  What  a 
memory  for  the  solitary  woman  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 
when  she  had  screamed  at  her  own  sick  fancy !  He  could  not- 
regret  his  liberty,  but  it  would  forever  be  embittered  by  the 
thought  of  this. 

And,  as  he  wound  toward  his  hotel,  the  whole  future  and 
past  seemed  now  to  assume  a  different  aspect,  and  new  plans 
began  to  agitate  his  mind. 

Everything  had  prospered  with  David  Fargus  up  to  this. 
The  three  years  spent  in  Mexico,  Central  America,  and  the 
Southern  States  had  been  full  of  daring  enterprises,  as  con- 
genial to  his  high  energy  as  they  had  proved  profitable  to  his 
material  welfare.  He  had  not  known  during  their  lapse  one 
single  moment  of  regret  or  an  instant  of  the  old  distaste  of 
life. 

But  on  his  arrival  at  Liverpool,  something  in  the  very  air 
of  the  country — in  cloudy  sky  and  narrow  horizons,  as  the 
express  flew  Londonward  with  him  through  the  green  bosom 
of  the  land — had  dashed  the  exuberance  of  his  spirits.  The 
sight  of  the  little  house,  and  a  sullen  depth  of  anger  against 
his  wife,  a  feeling  he  had  believed  dead  with  the  old  self,  had 
stirred  within  him  strangely.  On  hearing  of  her  grief  for 
him  the  revulsion  of  feeling  had  been  all  the  stronger  for  the 
hardness  of  these  thoughts. 

It  seemed  to  him,  with  that  hot  impulsiveness  of  his — of 
which  David  Fargus  had  to  the  full  as  large  a  share  as  George 
Kerr — as  if  he  could  never  again  taste  peace  till  he  had  seen 


48     Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr, 

with  his  own  eyes  what  had  become  of  the  woman  he  had 
abandoned  in  gayety  of  heart  and  misjudged  in  all  sincerity. 
She  had  gone  to  Seville.  Well,  Seville  was  as  easy  a  place  for 
David  Fargus  to  reach  as  London  had  been;  and  with  his 
usual  decisiveness  the  original  plan  of  an  English  tour  was 
abandoned  in  favor  of  instant  departure  for  Spain. 

A  fortnight  later  the  diligence  from  Cadiz  deposited,  for  the 
third  time  in  his  life,  George  Kerr,  or,  rather,  his  alias,  with- 
in the  gates  of  the  eighth  marvel  of  the  world. 

Thirty  years  ago  it  was  still  considered  advisable  for  trav- 
elers, whose  knowledge  of  "things  of  Spain"  was  sufficient  to 
bear  out  the  disguise,  to  conform  to  the  dress  of  the  country; 
David  Fargus's  life  in  Spanish  America  had  sufficiently  fa- 
miliarized him  with  that  swaggering  indolence,  that  careless, 
amiable  self-confidence,  supposed  to  be  specially  characteris- 
tic of  the  majo. 

Therefore  it  was  a  very  creditable  Andaluz  that  emerged 
from  the  Cadiz  diligence,  clad  in  brown  velvet,  silver-but- 
toned jacket  and  embroidered  leathejLgaiters,  with  silken  sash 
binding  his  lithe  waist,  clean-shaven,  but  for  a  small  bunch 
of  scientifically  darkened  whiskers  on  each  cheek-bone,  and 
the  indispensable  black  cape,  brilliantly  lined  inside,  care- 
lessly thrown  over  his  shoulder,  many  a  well-favored  cigar- 
maid — good  judge  in  such  matters — cast,  as  she  hurried  by 
from  the  tobacco  factory,  a  provoking  look  at  him  from  the 
bold  languor  of  her  eyes. 

His  first  care  was  to  reconnoiter  the  familiar  neighborhood 
of  Don  Atanasio's  house.  In  those  days  private  houses  of  the 
middle  class  were  generally  ready  to  supplement  their  in- 
come by  the  reception  of  "guests ;"  and  the  same  evening  he 
had  found  and  engaged  a  ground-floor  room,  the  window  of 
which  commanded  a  view  of  that  very  gateway  which  was 
such  a  historic  landmark  in  his  life.  A  pure  Havana  to  the 
host,  a  pretty  compliment  to  the  wife  and  daughter,  and  he 
was  at  home  in  his  new  quarters.  His  Spanish  was  sufficiently 
fluent  to  support  the  volunteered  information  that  he  was  an 
American  from  the  Southern  States,  who  had  lived  much  in 
Spanish  lands. 

Spaniards  are,  as  a  rule,  reticent  on  the  subject  of  their 
private  affairs.  It  concerned  nobody  that  the  guest  should 
spend  his  mornings  with  unvarying  regularity  in  watching 
some  opposite  house  from  his  grated  window;  that  of  an 
afternoon  he  should  take  post  on  the  shadow  side  of  the  street, 
"embossed"  in  his  cape,  puffing  at  the  eternal  cigarette,  wait- 
ing patiently  for  a  glimpse  of  a  well-known  figure.  There  is 
always  a  sufficiency  of  neat  ankles  and  roguish  eyes  in  Seville 
to  justify  such  an  occupation. 


Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr.     49 

Yet  the  days  dawned  and  closed  without  bringing  any  re- 
sult. True,  Don  Atanasio  and  his  wife  passed  daily  under 
his  eyes,  walking  devoutly  to  mass  of  a  morning,  or  setting 
forth  on  the  sunset  drive — but  they  were  always  alone ;  and  it 
smote  the  watcher  with  an  odd  feeling  of  guiltiness  to  mark 
how  aged  they  had  become.  Few  people  came  to  the  old 
house,  and  after  a  few  days  he  knew  them  all  by  sight.  But 
of  the  beautiful  form  he  had  loved  and  hated,  he  saw  not. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  he  began  to  despair  of  success  and 
was  meditating  some  method  of  carrying  on  his  search  in  a 
less  guarded  manner,  when  the  problem  was  solved  in  a  way 
he  had  never  contemplated. 

It  was  early  in  the  day ;  bringing  in  one  hand  the  matutinal 
cup  of  chocolate,  surmounted  with  a  roll  of  whitest  bread,  and 
in  the  other  a  basket  of  dazzling  linen — for  your  true  Span- 
iard prides  himself  especially  on  matters  of  cuff  and  shirt- 
front — his  host  had  just  entered  the  room.  Depositing  the 
basket  on  the  bed  and  the  breakfast  on  the  sill  of  the  win- 
dow, he  paused  for  a  few  minutes'  social  chat  with  his  guest, 
who,  at  the  moment,  stood  leisurely  lathering  his  chin  with 
his  fingers  preparatory  to  a  clean  shave. 

"It  will  be  a  hot  day,  senor,  for  the  bull-fight.  Chiclana 
will  do  it  from  the  chair  to-day." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  presumed  American. 

The  host  refolded  a  Government  cigarette. 

"Yes,  senor.  I  have  never  been  in  your  country,  and  I 
should  say  you  would  hardly  ever  have  seen  the  like  of  him. 
We,  in  Seville,  never  have  since  Montes,  and  never  shall 
again."     This  was  conclusive. 

But  somehow  or  other  his  listener  did  not  seem  so  interested 
as  he  should  have  been  in  this  momentous  topic;  he  was  all 
absorbed  in  looking  at  a  woman  who  now  emerged  from  the 
gated  portal  of  the  house  opposite,  leading  with  tenderest  care 
a  tottering  little  child.  Half-way  across  the  street  she  looked 
up  and  he  recognized  Dona  Concepcion's  face,  transfigured  by 
an  anxious,  tender  smile. 

Following  his  visitor's  intent  gaze,  the  landlord  came  close 
behind  him  to  look  out  over  his  shoulder  with  good-humored 
3uriosity,  pufiing  at  the  same  time  a  rich  fragrance  of  garlic 
upon  him. 

"Aha !"  he  cried ;  "so  the  little  one  is  better  to-day,  and  going 
out  for  a  walk.  Jesul  Maria!  how  doting  the  grandmother 
is!" 

The  grandmother!  Carmen  was  an  only  child.  She  had 
married  again,  then!  Well,  he  was  glad  her  grief  had  not 
proved  so  overpowering,  after  all. 

"It  is  a  pretty  child,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  resuming  his 


50     Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr. 

shaving  operation  with  elaborate  indifference.  "Whose  is  it? 
You  say  the  old  lady  is  the  grandmother." 

**Yes,  senor,  and  the  little  chap  is  the  light  of  her  old  age. 
He  lives  with  the  old  couple  in  that  great  house  yonder.  Ah, 
it  is  a  sad  story !" 

David  Fargus  passed  the  razor  over  his  soapy  cheek,  while 
his  ear  was  bent  to  listen  in  keen  suspense.  Leaning  against 
the  wall  and  unrolling  another  cigarette  to  make  it  afresh,  the 
Spaniard  proceeded: 

"Well,  senor,  Don  Atanasio  de  Ayala's  daughter,  who  lived 
in  that  house,  as  pretty  a  girl  she  was  as  any  in  Seville — and 
you  must  know  Seville  has  the  prettiest  in  the  world — ^mar- 
ried, some  years  ago,  an  Englishman.  Many  wondered,  at 
Don  Atanasio  for  permitting  it.  In  this  case,  at  all  events,  it 
did  not  prosper.  A  year  later  the  poor  young  lady  returned 
here,  a  widow.  The  townsfolk  talked  much  about  it  here  in 
Seville;  she  was  well  known  for  her  beauty.  Some  said  the 
Engishman  was  killed;  some  that  there  was  an  accident. 
Anyhow,  he  had  gone  where  heretics  go,  and  she,  in  widow's 
black,  with  a  face  white  as  a  sheet,  the  image  of  dolor,  and 
yet  still  so  lovely  that  people  stopped  in  the  streets  to  see  her 
pass.  But  it  is  said  she  could  not  get  her  spirits  up  again. 
You  should  have  heard  her  sing;  many  a  time  we  listened 
from  here;  it  would  have  made  a  paving-stone  glad.  She 
was  always  ailing  and  fretting,  and  not  even  the  thought  of 
the  little  one  to  come  could  draw  a  smile  from  her,  and  so  she 
had  no  strength  left.  A  month  before  the  Easter  following 
she  died — of  that  pretty  little  boy  you  saw  there.  It  was 
thought  the  old  ones  would  have  died,  too — never  was  seen 
such  grief;  but  they  had  to  live  for  the  pohrecito.  No  won- 
der the  grandmother  dotes  upon  him.  I  am  glad  he  is  better. 
I  must  not  chatter  so  while  you  shave." 

The  American  had  dropped  his  razor,  and  was  gazing,  open- 
mouthed,  at  space — a  deep  red  streak  lengthening  down  his 
chin. 

He  started  to  a  remembrance  of  his  position,  and  seizing 
a  towel,  buried  his  face  in  it  under  pretense  of  stanching  the 
blood,  but  in  reality  to  hide  the  pallor  he  felt  upon  him.  And 
then  some  one  within  impatiently  summoned  his  host  away, 
to  his  great  relief. 

He  fell  into  a  chair  in  an  agony  of  thought.  Carmen 
dead ! — ^the  child-wife  he  remembered  to  the  last  as  the  very 
incarnation  of  youthful  strength.  She  had  returned  to  her 
old  home,  mourning  for  the  man  who  had  so  selfishly  deserted 
her;  returned,  believing  herself  a  widow,  to  die  herself — to 
die  in  giving  life  to  his  son ! 

He  hid  his  face.    The  clever  scheme,  what  was  it  but  cow- 


Unlooked-for  Legacy  of  George  Kerr.     51 

ardly,  despicable,  hideously  selfish?  And  then  the  child! 
O  God,  what  a  miserable  chaos  it  all  was !  That  last  terrible 
scene  between  himself  and  the  willful  creature  he  had  meant 
to  subjugate  came  back  to  mind  now  with  glaring  vividness ! 

And  he  who  had  abandoned  his  wife  must  now  abandon 
their  child — ay,  must.  So  skillfully  had  he  encompassed  the 
death  of  his  old  self  that  any  other  course  would  be  impossible. 
For  the  boy's  own  interest  it  was  best  so,  perhaps.  The 
child's  fortune  was  well  assured — it  would  accumulate  during 
his  minority.  He  would  be  brought  up  a  Spaniard — ^that  was 
possibly  again  an  advantage  for  him;  it  is  easy  to  enjoy  life 
in  that  sunny  land,  away  from  the  constant  battling  for  dis- 
tinction, which  is  the  bane  of  an  Englishman's  existence.  He 
must  remain  forever  dead  to  his  child  as  he  was  to  the  whole 
world. 

After  a  long  battle  with  himself,  he  rose  and  rapidly  fin- 
ished dressing.  As  soon  as  he  had  seen  the  entry  of  his 
son's  birth  in  the  town  registers,  satisfied  himself  of  the  truth 
of  the  piteous  story,  that  chapter  of  his  life  would  indeed  be 
closed  forever.  And  afterward,  his  one  desire  was  to  fly  as 
soon  as  possible  from  the  place. 

At  the  Casa  di  Ayuntamiento  he  found  that  the  simplest 
plan  was  to  ask  for  anxattested  copy  of  the  birth  of  the  child, 
giving  himself  out  as  a  distant  relation  of  the  family  anxious 
to  verify  the  fact.  With  the  help  of  a  graciously-offered 
gratuity  and  a  well-turned  apology  he  obtained,  without  too 
much  delay,  the  desired  document,  which  bore  witness  to  the 
entrance  into  this  world  on  March  22, 1858,  of  one  Luis  Jorge 
Kerr  y  Ayala,  son  of  D.  Jorge  Kerr,  of  London,  England,  de- 
ceased, and  of  Dona  Carmen  Maria  Concepcion  de  Ayala  y 
Quevedo,  of  Seville,  his  wife. 


The  many  friends  David  Fargus  had  made  during  his  three 
years'  life  in  the  New  World  remarked  a  change  in  him  when 
he  again  returned  among  them.  It  was  in  no  very  marked 
way,  perhaps,  that  he  was  altered;  the  pleasant  manner,  the 
indomitable  energy  were  still  the  same;  but  an  infectious 
careless  light-heartedness,  a  certain  boyish  spring  that  had 
made  him  such  a  favorite  with  them,  seemed  to  have  gone 
from  him,  to  give  way  to  a  premature  sedateness  of  manner. 
There  was  no  moroseness  about  him,  he  was  still  a  genial  com- 
panion; but  his  laugh  was  more  tardy,  and  the  ring  of  his 
song  and  jest  was  heard  no  more  round  the  camp-fire. 


PART  II. 
DAVID  FARGUS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON  THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  HILL. 

Twenty-five  years  had  elapsed  since  the  imperfect  play  of  a 
hair-trigger,  while  it  marked  the  decaying  hour  of  the  frivo- 
lous, brilliant  existence  of  Carmen  Kerr,  became  the  starting 
event  of  a  new  and  vigorous  career  for  one  David  Fargus. 
His  had  been  on  the  whole  a  fine  life  since  then — a  life  of 
active  independence  which  had  stamped  its  character  of  de- 
cision and  self-reliance  upon  him. 

In  his  hale  middle  age,  while  his  body  was  scarcely  past 
its  prime,  his  mind  had  but  reached  its  full  power.  His  was  a 
mind  destined  of  its  innate  excellence  to  profit  peculiarly  by 
the  improving  influence  of  years  and  experience — all  quali- 
ties which  render  a  man  easy  and  pleasant  of  access  and  in- 
creasingly fascinating  in  intercourse. 

His  personality,  too,  had,  under  his  new  name,  become 
famous  in  his  adopted  country. 

On  his  first  return  to  the  New  World,  at  the  time  when  the 
Seceder's  resistance  to  the  ideas  of  the  North  was  waxing  ever 
fiercer,  he  was  just  in  the  mood  to  throw  himself  heart  and 
soul  into  any  great  national  movement,  in  the  hope  of  losing 
the  haunting  entity  of  his  former  self. 

The  interest,  moreover,  of  that  many-sided  question  was 
deep  enough  in  itself  to  engross  a  young  man  of  romantic  and 
chivalric  tendency,  and  he  naturally  ended  by  attaching  him- 
self unreservedly  to  the  Seceders'  cause. 

It  could  not  be  long  before  his  special  value  as  a  leader  of 
men  made  itself  felt  among  the  Confederates,  and  it  was  at 
the  head  of  a  corps  of  those  unparalleled  Southern  Horsemen 
that  he  finally  acquired  the  renown  which  students  of  military 
history  have  learned  to  associate  with  the  name  of  Colonel 
Fargus,  Stuart's  lieutenant  and  alter  ego. 

A  shoulder  lacerated  by  a  splinter  of  shell  during  the  mas- 


On  the  Other  Side  of  the  Hill.  53 

terly  retreat  of  the  last  day  of  Gettysbtirg,  and  the  great  scar 
on.  the  right  cheek — the  work  of  a  half -warded  Federal 
bayonet  in  that  fatal  encounter — ^were  the  sole  mementos  of 
his  own  personal  dangers. 

But  at  this  period  of  his  vigorous  maturity  David  Fargus, 
seemingly  the  most  successful  of  men,  with  nearly  every  desire 
of  his  hot  youth  realized,  and,  according  to  the  common  idea, 
without  a  care  in  the  world,  came  suddenly,  as  it  were,  to  a 
standstill  in  his  prosperous  career,  and  confessed  to  himself 
that  it  was  not  enough. 

In  the  journey  of  life  the  beginning  of  the  third  score  in  a 
man's  years  is  to  him  as  the  crest  of  the  mountain's  range  to 
the  explorer.  The  ascent  may  have  been  arduous,  but  the 
traveler  was  fresh  and  eager ;  the  day  increased  in  brightness 
as  he  went  on,  the  horizon  expanded — ahead  was  the  goal. 
Once  reached,  however,  there  comes  a  change;  the  wayfarer 
has  lost  his  keenness ;  there  are,  it  may  be,  scenes  more  beau- 
tiful than  he  ha.s  yet  beheld,  but  at  every  step  the  prospect 
grows  restricted,  the  world  is  darkening,  the  lonely  wanderer 
feels  his  energy  slowly  but  surely  give  way  to  a  yearning  for 
home  and  rest. 

Years  and  their  memories  had  gathered  on  his  head — ^not  so 
many,  nor  yet  so  heavily,  as  to  bring  any  foretaste  of  old  age 
with  them,  but  enough  to  make  him  think  more  of  the  past 
and  look  less  to  the  future.  The  change  which  always  comes 
over  a  man's  views  and  desires  when  it  strikes  home  to  him 
that  he  is  done  with  the  ascending  portion  of  his  life,  had  be^ 
gun  to  show  itself  to  him  in  an  indefinite  but  haunting  regret 
for  the  land  of  his  youth. 

On  an  expedition — connected,  it  is  true,  with  some  impor- 
tant speculation,  but  undertaken  principally  with  a  view  to 
seeking  in  physical  fatigue  and  mental  labor  the  recovery 
of  his  wonted  placidity — he  was  suddenly  laid  low  somewhere 
out  of  the  civilized  beats  by  a  severe  fever.  His  vigorous 
frame  repelled  the  onslaught  with  little  loss  of  power,  but 
five  nights  of  bodily  anguish  left  their  mark  upon  him. 

The  first  time  he  found  himself  again  in  "a  city,"  where  he 
could  confront  a  looking-glass,  he  was  startled  to  notice  sun- 
dry flashes  of  silver  about  his  temples  and  mustache.  This 
was  the  first  obtrusive  sign  of  the  advancing  age  he  had  been 
given  to  speculating  about  of  late — the  reality,  beginning  of 
the  end. 

Before  so  very  long,  then,  he  must  resign  himself  to  being 
"an  old  man." 

Abstractedly  gazing  at  the  keen-featured  image  before  him, 
he  fell  into  a  painful  meditation.  At  the  worst  of  his  recent 
fever  a  rough  comrade,  who  had  tended  him  in  that  shanty 


54  On  the  Other  Side  of  the  Hill. 

where  he  lay,  with  faithful  devotion,  had  one  3ultry,  tempest- 
threatened  night  entertained  grave  doubts  of  his  patient's 
recovery.  It  was  in  the  darkest  watch  of  those  hours  as  the 
fever-stricken  man  lay  trembling  between  consciousness  and 
delirium — his  pulse  at  its  highest,  burning  with  dry,  scorch- 
ing heat;  had  it  not  been  for  the  rain  at  dawn — who  knows  ? — 
he  might  now  be  lying  under  the  red  clay  In  that  dreary 
waste,  with  a  ruggedly-hewed  stone,  or,  perhaps,  not  even 
that,  to  mark  the  grave  of  David  Fargus.  Staring  at  the 
twitching  fingers,  the  ceaselessly  tossing  head,  his  sick-nurse 
had  removed  his  pipe  and  delivered  himself  of  the  following 
remark : 

"I  reckon.  Colonel,  if  you  wish  to  add  a  codicil  or  two  to 
your  last  will  and  testament,  you  had  better  jot  them  down 
at  once.    Pity  your  folks  ain't  here  I" 

The  brutal  phrase  had  remained  in  his  mind,  and  now  it 
came  back  with  a  revealing  sense  of  his  own  absolute  lone- 
liness. 

Friends  he  had  in  plenty;  but  a  relative,  his  own  flesh  and 
blood — David  Fargus,  the  lonely  bachelor,  owned  none  such 
on  earth.  Ah !  but  George  Kerr  ?  He  had  had  kindred.  ~^he 
sturdy  young  generation,  springing  from  the  old  tree,  would 
have  been  something  to  be  proud  of  now.  George  Kerr  had 
had  a  brave  little  sister ;  they  had  loved  each  other  with  the 
tenderness  born  of  childish  associations,  of  the  best  and 
purest  part  of  life.    Poor  Susie! 

And  then  there  rose  a  vision  of  another  child-face,  a  baby- 
face  with  great  dark  eyes  and  an  aureole  of  yellow  hair,  and 
though  resolutely  forced  in  the  background  of  his  mind,  never 
forgotten,  and  he  had  never  so  much  as  touched  him! 

At  the  end  of  so  many  years  it  was  strange  how  the  thought 
of  the  child  disturbed  him.  He  must  now  be  a  grown  man,  if 
he  still  lived.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter  were  he  alive  or 
dead?  It  was  but  another  fortunate  creature  spared  the  evil 
of  existence.  What  reason  had  he  to  expect  the  boy  to  have 
escaped  the  taint  of  the  life  he  had  himself  condemned 
him  to? 

The  boy  came  from  a  good  stock  on  both  sides — ^who  could 
tell  ?  He  might  have  developed  into  the  sort  of  man  fathers 
are  proud  to  own. 

But  man,  who  can  rule  an  empire,  has  little  power  to  con- 
trol the  small  realm  of  his  own  brain ;  he  may  lead  an  army  of 
thousands,  but  he  is  impotent  to  quell  absolutely  a  single  per- 
sistent idea. 

By  degrees,  the  determination  taking  root,  he  discovered 
himself,  almjost  with  surprise,  making  actual  preparations  for 
departure,  and  devising  various  schemes  for  tracing  his  rela- 


The  First  Link — A  Golden  One.         55 

tives,  and  perchance,  playing  the  part  of  beneficent  genie  in 
their  lives. 

This  resolve  once  come  to,  a  definite  object  again  before 
him,  his  trouble  of  mind  disappeared. 

And  thus,  on  a  certain  June  morning  in  1881,  he  found 
himself  once  more  on  the  way  to  the  old  country,  and  in  that 
state  of  freedom  from  ties  and  trammels  which  had  remained 
for  David  Fargus  one  of  the  necessities  of  existence. 

Now,  as  he  stood  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Cunarder 
bound  for  home,  and  watched  the  shores  of  his  adopted  coun- 
try slowly  recede  and  fade  into  the  horizon,  the  anithetical 
nature  of  his  present  errand,  compared  with  his  first  crossing 
of  the  ocean,  gave  a  kind  of  solenmity  to  the  occasion.  How 
different  the  spirit  in  which  he  was  now  setting  out  in  mature 
age — on  a  venture  as  uncertain,  as  myseriously  attractive,  as 
that  which  had  started  his  second  self ! 

But  as  the  days  rolled  by  and  the  proud  ship  plowed  her 
way  through  the  salt  furrows — every  minute,  every  throb 
bringing  him  nearer  to  his  desire — though  his  interest  in  the 
enterprise  became  more  absorbing,  the  first  sanguine  glow  of 
expectation  gradually  faded. 

Men  who  have  seen  and  done  much  in  life  remain  seldom 
long  sanguine,  and  David  Fargus,  while  determining  his 
course  of  action,  kept  rigidly  before  his  mind  the  possibility 
of  the  unknown  son  being  after  all,  dead,  or,  if  alive,  un- 
worthy. 

But  he  had  not  been  in  London  more  than  a  few  days — a 
delay  inevitable  for  the  arrangement  of  his  monetary  affairs, 
and  actively  spent  in  settling  the  same — ^when  one  of  those 
strokes  of  luck  which  are,  after  all,  more  frequent  in  life  than 
pessimists  would  have  us  believe,  saved  him  a  long  and  useless 
journey. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIRST  LINK — A  GOLDEN  ONE. 

It  was  on  the  very  evening  before  his  intended  departure. 

Waiting  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  Naval  and  Military — 
most  comfortable  of  London  clubs — for  the  appearance  of  the 
friend  whose  guest  at  dinner  he  was  to  be;  Fargus  was  ab- 
sently perusing  some  Service  weekly  paper,  when,  under  the 
rubric  "Furloughs  to  England,"  he  came  across  a  name  which 
instantly  arrested  his  wandering  attention. 

Fargus  found  his  gaze  riveted  on  the  small-type  paragraph : 
"L.  G.  Kerr,  — th  Dragoon  Guards."    Aud  when  his  host 


56 


The  First  Link— A  Golden  One. 


entered  and  introduced  the  fellow-guests  collected  to  do  honor 
to  the  American  celebrity,  Fargus  had  to  make  an  effort  to 
shake  off  a  spell  of  deep  abstraction. 

So  the  young  generation  kept  up  the  old  traditions  of 
devoting  their  life's  energy  to  the  country's  service.  This 
unknown  Dragoon  Guard,  L.  G.  Kerr,  seemed  to  loom  in  the 
background  of  every  subject  of  conversation,  and  engrossed 
much  of  the  attention  which  should  have  been  bestowed  on  the 
exceptional  cookery  and  select  vintages  provided  for  the  guest 
of  the  evening  by  a  true  connoisseur. 

Was  he  nephew  or  cousin,  or  a  more  distant  scion  of  the 
dear  old  family?  G.  stood  for  George,  of  course.  It  was  a 
favorite  name  among  the  Kerrs.  But  L.?  What  did  L. 
stand  for?  Where  could  he  have  seen  those  two  letters  in 
conjunction  that  they  should  seem  so  strangely  familiar? 
L.  G. — ^Lionel  George,  Lawrence,  or  Lewis?  Lewis  .  .  . 
Luis! 

"Colonel  Fai^us,  you  are  eating  nothing.  Waiter,  give 
Colonel  Fargus  some  more  wine." 

With  a  hand  that  shook  in  very  unwonted  fashion,  David 
Fargus  straightway  drained  the  refilled  beaker.  Lewis 
George!  why,  those  were  the  names  that  had  formed  the 
refrain  to  his  thoughts  for  the  last  month!  Lewis  George, 
or,  rather,  as  the  Spanish  had  it,  Luis  Jorge,  the  name  of  that 
white-faced  babe.  Carmen's  child. 

"Yes,  as  you  say.  Major  Fraser,  nowhere  in  the  world  does 
one  drink  a  better  glass  of  champagne  than  in  England — the 
mother  country  as  we  call  her — and  I  have  traveled  a  good 
deal  .  .  ."  And  so  the  dinner  wore  its  dreary  length  till 
its  close. 

Colonel  Fargus'  host  was  reaping  the  usual  bitter  reward 
of  inviting  a  lion  to  partake  of  his  hospitality,  with  the  hid- 
den purpose  of  making  it  roar  for  the  entertainment  of  his 
friends.  The  best  effort  of  the  chef,  the  Perier-Jouet  '74,  the 
most  delicate  turning  of  the  conversation  to  well-remembered 
subjects,  were  all  in  vain.  The  Colonel  was  abstracted,  spoke 
with  an  effort,  and  in  that  most  convivial  of  hours,  after  a 
good  dinner,  left  the  '47  port  untasted  merely  to  toy  vtdth  the 
olives  on  his  plate. 

Nor  in  the  smoking-room  did  matters  improve."  Puffing 
mechanically  at  the  superb  Laranaga,  chosen  for  his  especial 
delectation  with  such  minute  care.  Colonel  Fargus  sat  cross- 
legged  in  his  deep  arm-chair,  and  let  his  eyes  roam  dreamily 
round  the  room.  All  at  once  he  rose,  and,  addressing  his  host 
with  the  well-remembered  and  peculiarly  charming  smile  that 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  remove  impressions  even  more 
unsatisfactory,  "Excuse  me,"  he  said;  "I  see  an  Army  List 


The  First  Link — A  Golden  One.         57 

yonder.  I  have  a  reason  for  wishing  to  consult  one — ^the  fate 
of  an  old  friend  I  am  anxious  about.  May  I  look  at  it  for  a 
moment  ?" 

The  disappointed  entertainer  gave  the  required  permission 
with  all  the  good  grace  he  could  muster,  and  watched  his 
guest's  proceedings  with  a  certain  curiosity. 

Fargus  withdrew  to  some  little  distance  from  the  group,  and 
holding  the  book  under  the  light  of  the  lamp  on  the  chimney- 
piece  with  one  hand,  rapidly  turned  over  the  pages  with  the 
other.  Presently  he  started  violently,  and  then  became  ab- 
sorbed in  the  contemplation  of  one  page  for  such  a  lengthy 
period  that  Major  Fraser  lost  patience,  turned  his  back  upon 
him  and  gave  him  up  as  hopeless,  to  devote  himself  to  his 
other  guests. 

But  the  celebrated  Southern  was,  for  the  moment.  Colonel 
David  Fargus,  the  American,  no  more.  He  was  George  Kerr, 
English,  of  England's  best  blood,  and  he  had  a  son  who  was  a 
soldier  of  the  old  country.  "Lewis  George  Ayala  Kerr. 
Born  March,  1858."  Ay,  that  was  the  date,  not  the  shadow  of 
a  doubt — there  he  was,  even  if  the  Spanish  name  beside  the 
English  ones  had  not  been  proof  sufficient.  **Gazetted  from 
the  R.  M.  C.  in  July,  1878,  to  the  — th  Dragoon  Guards." 
In  three  years  the  young  man  had  seen  service  enough  to 
warrant  the  pride  that  swelled  the  father's  heart  as,  when 
sufficiently  recovered  from  the  first  bewilderment  of  his  dis- 
covery, he  noticed  the  crossed  swords  before  the  names  and 
turned  to  the  War  Service  references.  "Attached  to  Sir  H. 
Gough's  Cavalry  Brigade  in  Afghanistan;  present  at  the 
march  from  Kabul  to  Kandahar."  And  again :  "Attached  to 
the  — th  Regiment  in  the  Transvaal."  Truly  a  goodly  record 
for  so  short  a  time! 

Fargus  closed  the  book,  and  with  a  curious  smile  on  his 
face,  a  bright,  far-off  look  in  his  eyes,  returned  to  the  smok- 
ing circle  and  joined  in  the  conversation.  And  now  he  talked 
enough  to  satisfy  all  the  expectations  of  host  and  guests. 

But  over  and  above  the  exchange  of  words,  the  interlacing 
of  ideas  and  sound  wisdom,  born  of  his  own  warlike  ex- 
perience, with  which  he  delivered  himself  anent  the  misman- 
aged, disastrous,  and  bloody  business  of  the  Boer  campaign, 
were  surging  private  brain-pictures  of  the  little  dark-eyed 
boy  he  had  seen  but  once ;  the  child  who  was  now  an  English 
soldier — and  a  dashing  one,  since  he  had  been  twice  allowed  to 
see  service  away  from  his  regiment — an  English  horse  soldier 
in  that  glorious  old  corps  that  for  two  centuries  upheld  the 
prestige  of  English  valor  in  Spain,  in  Flanders,  in  France,  the 
Crimea,  India.  With  the  remembrance  of  its  noble  motto 
there  came  before  his  mind  the  gallant  sight  of  heavy  horse 


58 


The  First  Link— A  Golden  One. 


as  they  had  dashed  past  the  Highland  Brigade  to  scatter  the 
distant  swarming  mass  of  Russians  on  the  morning  of  Bala- 
klava.  With  what  envy,  what  enthusiasm  he,  the  beardless 
ensign,  had  watched  them  as  they  rushed  to  the  front !  And 
his  deserted  boy  was  one  of  those!  It  was  a  novel  and  deli- 
cate emotion  to  think,  all  of  a  sudden,  with  a  sense  of  pride, 
of  the  son  he  had  abandond. 

In  accordance  with  his  new  schemes,  the  very  next  day 
found  the  American  alighting  among  the  yellow  sands,  the 
heather,  the  fragrant  pines  of  Sandhurst,  and  wending  his 
way  through  that  picturesque  corner  of  Hampshire,  which 
meets  Surrey  and  Berkshire. 

Skirting  the  placid  lake,  hemmed  in  by  greenwood  and 
timber,  on  one  side  of  which  the  mature  students  of  the  Staff 
College  master  the  more  recondite  mysteries  of  warfare,  while, 
on  the  other,  downy-lipped  cadets  wrestle  with  its  rudiments, 
he  walked  up  the  broad  gravel  road  leading  to  the  Grecian 
portico  of  the  Military  College,  and  quietly  enjoyed  his 
thoughts  and  his  cigar. 

And  he  paused  for  a  few  moments,  drawing  pleasure  from 
the  fancied  vision  of  his  son  among  those  eager  polo-players 
that  were  just  now  careering  in  wild  confusion  on  the  football 
plot.  The  father's  curiosity  was  not  devoid  of  anxiety  as  he 
made  his  way  over  to  a  much  be-medaled  staff-sergeant,  who 
was  standing  under  the  portico,  and  realized  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  feelings  that,  for  the  very  first  time,  he  was  about 
to  speak  to  some  one  who  must  have  known  his  son. 

Accosting  the  veteran,  he  went  straight  to  the  point,  with  a 
simplicity  that  robbed  the  errand  of  half  its  strangeness. 

A  young  gentleman,  by  name  Lewis  G.  Kerr,  whom  he  had 
reason  to  be  interested  in,  had  been  through  the  College  three 
years  back.  He  was  most  desirous  for  some  information  con- 
cerning him. 

The  sergeant-major  glanced  sharply  at  the  speaker;  then, 
after  a  second's  hesitation,  touched  his  cap  and  professed 
himself  both  able  and  willing  to  assist  him. 

"There  was  a  Mr.  Kerr  here,  sir,  some  years  ago.  I  remem- 
ber him  well.  He  was  gazetted  to  the  — th  Dragoon  Guards, 
I  believe.  Out  in  India  now.  He  was  a  fine  young  gentle- 
man, liked  by  most.  If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  can  find  out 
a  bit  more  about  him  for  you,  from  the  back  registers." 

And  acquiescing,  Fargus  was  piloted  through  long,  echoing 
passages  to  the  adjutant's  office,  where  the  register  in  question 
was  soon  produced. 

"Here  you  are,  sir,  Kerr,  L.  G.,  Gentleman  Cadet,  Uni- 
versity Candidate,  B.  A.,  Edin.  Born  in  Seville,  Spain,  12 
March,  1858 — he  had  a  bit  of  a  foreign  way  with  him,  too, 


The  First  Link— A  Golden  One.         59 

now  I  think  of  it,  though  he  did  not  like  to  have  it  said  of 
him — son  of  George  Kerr,  Esq.,  late  — th  Highlanders,  de- 
ceased. Educated  Edinburgh  University;  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge.  London  address :  Staples  Inn,  H  olborn.  Ga- 
zetted— and  so  on.  Is  that  the  young  gentleman  you  wanted 
to  hear  about?" 

Fargus  nodded  silently,  drew  out  his  note-book,  and  care- 
fully jotted  down  the  memoranda.  "A  scholar,  too!  How 
well  the  lad  has  got  on !" 

"You  say  you  remember  him  well,  sergeant-major?"  he 
went  on  aloud,  in  his  quiet  voice,  as,  the  business  completed, 
they  turned  away  and  strolled  again  toward  the  parade- 
ground. 

"Yes,  sir,  very  well.  A  smart  young  gentleman ;  good  drill ; 
good  at  gymnastics  and  games.  I  remember  him  throwing 
the  hammer,  Highland  fashion — not  running,  as  they  do  here 
— no  one  could  come  near  him  at  that.  I  am  a  Scotchman 
myself,  sir,  and  I  have  never  seen  it  better  done — so  was  the 
instructor,  too,  for  the  matter  of  that,  but  Mr.  Kerr  beat 
him." 

The  visitor  had  lit  another  cigar,  and  now  stood  on  the 
steps  of  the  portico,  slowly  puffing  blue  smoke  and  abstracted- 
ly gazing  into  space.  The  old  sergeant,  who,  finding  that  the 
more  good  he  narrated  of  the  quondam  cadet  the  more  the 
stranger's  face  brightened,  now  warmed  perceptibly  to  the 
work  of  airing  his  reminiscences,  and,  after  a  pause  for  ap- 
proval, took  a  fresh  start. 

"Good  at  book  work,  too,  I  believe ;  but  that  had  not  much 
to  say  to  things  in  that  year,  for  they  bundled  out  all  the 
young  gentlemen  at  the  end  of  their  first  term;  we  thought 
we  were  going  to  fight  the  Russians  once  more,  as  you 
know,  sir." 

Fargus  looked  down  at  his  informant's  breast,  and  noticed 
on  the  broad  expanse  of  the  staff  tunic  the  green-edged  pink 
ribbon  and  the  curly  Crimean  clasps — honorable  badges  he 
had  himself  been  entitled  to  of  old. 

"It  was  cold  work  in  those  trenches  there,  was  it  not  ?"  he 
said,  indicating  the  decoration  with  a  significant  gesture; 
"I — that  is,  I  have  some  old  friends  who  went  through  it  all. 
What  regiment  were  you  in  ?" 

"It  is  curious,  sir,  but  I  was  in  the  — ^th,  the  very  regiment 
this  Mr.  Kerr's  father  belonged  to.  I  think  that  was  what 
made  the  young  gentleman  take  to  me  first.  On  parade  it 
is  not  a  question  of  choice.  Many  and  many  is  the  talk  we 
have  had  about  the  old  times.  Not  that  I  could  tell  him 
much  about  his  father,  for  I  was  not  in  his  company,  and 
I  scarcely  recollect  him,  save  that  he  was  a  finely  set-up 


6o         The  First  Link— A  Golden  One. 

young  officer  and  wild  like.  But  Mr.  Kerr  that  was  here, 
he  would  come  and  get  me  to  talk  of  Iiim  and  of  our  doings ; 
he  seemed  never  to  tire  of  hearing  me  speak  about  his  father, 
little  as  it  was  I  could  say,  though  he  never  even  saw  him 
himself,  as  he  told  me.  Yes,  sir,  he  was  a  nice  young  gentle- 
man, and  steady — as  young  gentlemen  go." 

Here  was  a  link  in  the  lengthening  chain — a  golden  one. 
The  boy  had  not  been  brought  up  in  ignorance  of  or  indiffer- 
ence to  the  father  who  died  to  him  before  he  saw  the  light. 
Discoveries  such  as  these,  made  with  facility  now  that  he 
had  the  proper  clew,  seemed  to  bridge  over  the  dark  abyss 
of  time. 

"Well,  I  am  really  much  obliged  to  you." 

"Don't  mention  it,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir" — dexterously  slip- 
ping into  his  pocket  the  sovereign  which  the  visitor  pressed 
into  his  white-gloved  palm.  You  are  a  relative  of  the  young 
gentleman,  I  suppose,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Fargus  dreamily,  after  a  pause;  "his 
father — I  knew  his  father  well  in  my  young  days.  I  am  only 
a  friend — a  well-wisher  to  the  son." 

The  veteran  eyed  him  investigatingly. 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  his  likeness.  Each  batch  of 
young  gentlemen  have  themselves  taken  regularly  in  York 
Town.  They  are  so  pleased  when  th^  first  get  into  their 
uniforms,  you  know.  It  is  just  over  the  road,  sir.  I  can 
show  you  the  way." 

It  was  evidently  a  happy  thought,  for  the  stranger  accepted 
the  proposal  with  alacrity. 

Sergeant-Major  Short  would  have  been  more  than  human 
if  his  curiosity  had  not  been  thoroughly  aroused.  Having 
conducted  his  interlocutor  to  the  photographer's  door,  he  re- 
tired into  the  shade  of  a  neighboring  public-house  to  watch 
his  further  proceedings. 

After  a  while  the  stranger  emerged  from  the  studio,  and 
walked  very  slowly  along  the  road  leading  to  the  station.  He 
held  a  small  card  in  his  hand  which  he  seemed  to  contemplate 
from  every  point  of  view  with  absorbing  interest. 

With  such  notes  as  Fargus  now  carried  his  further  course 
was  one  of  very  plain  sailing.  The  same  afternoon  he  pushed 
as  far  as  Cambridge,  and  the  next  morning,  beneath  the  July 
sunshine,  saw  him  strolling  down  the  majestic,  but  at  this 
vacation  time  deserted.  King's  Parade  toward  the  well-re- 
membered Gothic  archway  of  that  noble  college  which  had 
known  so  many  generations  of  Kerrs. 

The  head  porter  was  soon  forthcoming,  and  at  his  courteous 
request  condescended  to  show  the  stranger  over  the  venerable 


The  ^irst  Link— A  Golden  One.        61 

institution,  little  wotting  how  familiar  every  stone  rose  before 
his  gaze. 

Cambridge  was  a  more  likely  place  for  Lewis  Kerr  to  re- 
visit on  his  return  home  than  Sandhurst,  and  David  Fargus 
deemed  it  prudent  to  adopt  more  devious  methods  of  inquiry 
than  in  his  previous  voyage  of  investigation.  He  therefore 
suffered  himself  to  be  conducted  tourist  fashion  through 
dining-hall,  library  and  chapel;  he  admired,  criticised,  and 
wondered,  and  finally  succeeded  in  producing  in  his  decorous 
guide  the  desired  loquacity.  It  was  easy  to  get  him  on  the 
subject  of  generations  of  students,  and  a  not  unnatural  tran- 
sition to  mention,  as  an  instance,  a  certain  family — the  Kerrs 
of  Gilham — ^whom  the  tourist  had  known  in  days  gone  by. 

Yes,  there  had  been  some  at  Trinity  to  his  own  knowledge. 
But  there  were  none  now.  No ;  there  had  not  been  any  since 
a  Mr.  L.  G.  Kerr;  and  that  was  four  or  five  years  ago.  He 
(with  some  disgust)  had  left  before  his  degree — had  gone,  it 
seemed,  into  the  army.  He  could  not  say  if  he  was  of  the 
family  the  gentleman  had  known — they  came  from  Yorkshire. 
This  Mr.  Kerr  used  to  go  there,  now  he  remembered,  by  the 
way,  with  his  cousin,  Mr.  Hillyard,  a  lecturer  at  one  of  the 
colleges,  very  highly  thought  of  in  the  University.  Perhaps 
the  inquirer  knew  him?  No;  well,  he  was  away  now,  any- 
how; Gilham,  he  believed,  the  name  of  the  place  was. 

David  Fargus  seized  with  avidity  upon  this  first  piece  of 
news.  So,  despite  the  squire's  enmity,  the  posthumous  son 
had  after  all  been  made  welcome,  and  acknowledged  in  the 
old  home.  The  great  man  waived  the  trivial  personality  of 
the  youthful  undergraduate — B.  A.  though  he  was  of  some 
Scotch  University  or  other,  he  had  left  before  his  degree — an 
act  of  obvious  folly,  for  he  might  have  made  a  career  at  the 
University. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  almost  of  tenderness  that  he  stepped 
into  the  small  green-paneled  room,  with  mullioned  ogee  win- 
dows looking  over  the  old  court — the  rooms  where  his  boy 
had  passed  so  important  a  part  of  his  life,  and  which,  by  a 
pleasing  coincidence,  were  situate  on  the  same  stairs  as  those 
where  George  Kerr  had  spent  his  short  and  profitless  spell  of 
University  life.  Then  the  caressing  thought  came  that  per- 
haps there  was  more  than  mere  coincidence,  that  the  boy  had 
probably  found  out  where  his  unknown  father  lived,  and  had 
taken  a  sentimental  interest  in  establishing  himself  near  the 
place. 

After  a  short  conversation  on  general  topics,  undertaken 
with  a  view  to  draw  the  other's  attention  from  the  subject  of 
his  inquiries,  Fargus  thanked  him  and  took  his  leave. 

But  he  failed  not  to  stop  at  the  first  bookseller's  and  pur- 


62        More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain. 

chase  the  reference  books  of  the  required  date.  Here  he 
found  information  which  amply  compensated  him  for  his  lack 
of  success  with  the  lofty  head-porter. 

That  evening  Fargus  ate  his  solitary  dinner  to  the  accom- 
paniment of  many  pleasant  thoughts.  ' 

Before  leaving  the  table  he  drew  the  photograph  from  his 
poeketbook,  and  gazed  at  it  long  and  with  keen  scrutiny ;  then 
he  filled  his  glass  to  the  brim  and  drank,  with  a  mental  toast, 
to  the  original. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MORE  LINKS  IN  THE   GOLDEN   CHAIN. 

"Pending  the  boy's  arrival  in  England,"  had  thought  Fer- 
gus, while  maturing  his  plans  at  Cambridge,  *1  may  as  well 
carry  on  my  investigations  at  Gilham." 

To  do  so  without  betraying  himself  or  his  purpose  only  re- 
quired a  little  management.  The  most  direct  way  was,  if 
possible,  to  settle  within  convenient  distance  of  the  Court  for 
a  few  months;  this  accomplished,  he  would  be,  in  some  re- 
spects, even  more  fortiinately  situated  than  the  best  supported 
detective,  having  the  advantage  of  really  belonging  to  the 
society  he  intended  to  mix  with. 

Glancing  through  a  list  of  suitable  residences  in  that  part 
of  the  Riding  which  is  associated  with  Gilham,  the  familiar 
name  of  Widley  Grange  arrested  his  attention.  Widley 
Grange — the  "Lone  Grange,"  as  it  was  popularly  called — the 
very  place! 

This  was  the  very  place  for  him,  and  he  soon  closed  an  en- 
gagement with  the  agents. 

The  house  was,  in  its  old-fashioned  way,  in  solid  repair, 
and  furnished  comfortably  enough.  The  local  agent  had,  at 
his  request,  engaged  two  reliable  female  servants,  suflSciently 
past  their  prime  for  a  bachelor  establishment;  and  he  had 
secured  for  himself  in  London  a  competent  factotimi,  des- 
tined to  act  as  coachman  and  valet,  and  with  recommenda- 
tions high  enough  to  warrant  the  corresponding  altitude  of 
salary.  To  this  discreet  and  capable  person  he  intrusted  the 
installment  of  his  luggage,  the  choice  of  the  few  rooms  to  be 
inhabited  out  of  the  numerous  and  rambling  suites,  and  the 
general  preparation  of  house  and  stables.  He  himself  re- 
mained a  few  days  longer  in  town  to  settle  private  points  of 
business — among  these  one  which  had  cost  him  many  hours 
of  anxious  deliberation. 

He  was  too  much  alive  to  the  risk  of  missing  his  son,  de- 


More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain,        63 

spite  the  elaborate  and  plausible  scheme  by  means  of  which 
he  meant  to  come  across  him  naturally,  to  leave  such  a  con- 
tingency unprovided  against,  and  there  seemed  to  be  but 
one  safe  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Finally,  though  not  at 
first  without  repugnance,  he  entered  into  negotiations  with 
one  of  the  more  respectable  private  inquiry  offices,  where  he 
obtained  the  services  of  a  trustworthy  agent,  who  was  to 
watch  for  the  arrival  in  England  of  a  certain  subaltern  of 
dragoons,  and  to  furnish  a  daily  report  of  his  subsequent 
movements. 

Satisfied  on  this  important  point,  Fargus  took  the  road 
again  to  enter  upon  the  possession  of  his  little  estate  and 
commence  the  operations  which  were  to  bring  him  once  more 
into  contact  with  his  next  of  kin. 

He  was  much  attracted  by  the  aspect  of  the  ancient  dwell- 
ing-place and  the  wild  beauty  of  its  surroundings  when  he 
now  beheld  them  after  so  many  years.  And  the  familiar 
coat  of  arms,  weather-beaten  and  defaced  by  time,  on  the 
crumbling  key-stone  over  the  hall  door,  made  him  feel,  for 
the  first  time  after  his  long  wanderings,  as  if  he  had  come 
home  at  last. 

His  newly  discovered  attendant  received  him  with  the  re- 
spectful confidential  greeting  of  an  old  retainer. 

"I  hope  you  will  approve  of  my  arrangements,  sir.  You 
see,  the  bedroom  for  yourself  next  to  the  visitor's  room,  as 
you  ordered;  the  dining-room  and  the  study  according  to 
your  directions.  The  kitchens  and  the  female  servants'  rooms 
are  quite  at  the  other  end  of  the  house.  I  myself  occupy  a 
room  over  the  stables." 

Fargus  looked  round  the  large  beam-ceiled,  wainscoted  hall 
allotted  to  him  as  study  with  decided  approval.  With  a  smile 
of  commendation  he  noted  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  best  fur- 
niture sagaciously  collected  from  different  parts  of  the  house, 
and  the  trophies  of  heterogeneous  weapons  he  had  accumulat- 
ed during  many  wanderings  arranged  on  one  side  of  the 
mantelpiece,  not  without  a  show  of  experience,  to  balance  the 
rack  containing  guns,  rifles  and  rods,  on  the  other.  Opening 
out  of  this  "study"  were  the  two  curious,  irregularly  shaped 
bedrooms,  with  climbing  roses  peeping  in  at  the  windows,  and 
full  of  the  sweetness  of  the  old-fashioned  flowers  in  the 
neglected  garden  beyond. 

On  the  threshold  of  that  destined  for  "the  guest"  Fargus 
again  paused.  K  things  prospered  him,  here  he  might  one 
day  hope  to  harbor  his  son. 

"Yes,  Turner,  everything  is  as  I  wish;  you  could  not  have 
done  better." 

The  new  habitat  was,  moreover,  thoroughly  congenial  to 


64        More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain. 

his  tastes;  it  was  sin^larly  in  harmony  with  his  present  pur- 
suit; he  could  remain  as  long  as  necessary,  look  about  him 
without  exciting  comments,  and  on  occasion  dispense  hos- 
pitality. 

Two  days  after  his  arrival,  on  returning  from  a  ride  to 
the  local  town,  he  found  that  his  first  visitor  had  called: 
Major-General  Woldham,  Woldham  Hall,  as  testified  the 
card. 

Well,  it  was  even  better,  perhaps  to  make  his  first  appear- 
ance in  county  society  elsewhere  than  at  the  Court  itself; 
and  there  could  be  no  more  favorable  opening  than  this. 
After  a  due  lapse  of  time,  he  rode  forth  to  return  the  call. 

There  are  no  spots  in  the  kingdom  where  the  special  beauty 
of  prosperous  English  scenery  combines  more  harmoniously 
with  undisturbed  associations  of  the  past  than  in  Gilham 
and  its  neighborhood.  Woldham  Hall  itself,  albeit  a  building 
of  no  pretentious  dimensions,  is  oae  of  the  most  perfect 
specimens  of  fifteenth-century  half-timber — so-called  black 
and  white — houses  now  extant.  With  its  gables  and  bay 
windows,  latticed  casements,  its  oaken  panels  and  ceilings, 
stairs  and  galleries,  and  the  wondrous  fancy  of  the  black 
timbering  on  its  white  plaster-work,  this  ideal  mansion  rests 
with  quiet  but  conscious  pride  between  a  tenderly  nursed 
terrace  lawn  on  one  side — the  velvet-nap  bowling-green  of 
former  days,  bounded  now  by  a  flower-grown  baluster  where, 
in  less  secure  times,  the  moat  ran  its  sluggish  course — and  on 
the  other  a  luxuriant  demesne  of  orchards,  rose  and  kitchen 
gardens,  hothouses  and  shrubberies,  which  encompasses  and 
screens  with  pleasant  motley  growth  such  marring  adjuncts 
as  offices  and  stable  yards. 

David  Fargus,  turning  from  the  white  dust  and  glare  of 
the  highroad  into  the  cool  green  shadiness  of  the  grounds, 
promptly  fell  a  victim  to  the  temptation,  and  started  across 
the  short  tuft  at  a  hard  canter.  But  arrived  at  the  clump  of 
fir-trees  which  he  had  thought  must  mark  the  part  of  the 
avenue  he  aimed  at,  he  found  he  had  lost  his  bearing,  and 
was  about  to  retrace  his  way,  when  a  deep-mouthed,  inter- 
rogatory, menacious  bark  made  him  rein  in  his  horse  and  look 
in  the  direction  whence  the  challenge  seemed  to  proceed. 

Here  a  graceful  picture  met  his  ^es;  a  tall  girl,  whose 
bright  brown  head  was  bared  to  the  snmmer  breeze,  whose 
shapely  figure,  clad  in  white,  detached  itself  vividly  from  the 
somber  background,  stood  leaning  against  the  trunk  of  a  giant 
fir.  Her  clear  large  eyes  looked  with  quiet  inquiry  at  the 
intruder;  one  slender,  buff-gauntleted  hand  was  twined  re- 
strainingly  round  the  neck  of  a  large  retriever,  who,  sabl^ 


More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain.        65 

coated,  quivering  with  defiance,  stood  ready  to  spring  for- 
ward in  his  mistress'  defense. 

For  a  moment,  bathed  in  the  full  splendor  of  the  sun,  Far- 
gus,  curbing  his  impatient  mount  with  firm  hand,  paUsed  to 
enjoy  this  unexpected  vision.  Then,  uncovering  himself,  and 
bowing,  with  the  ceremonious  courtesy  habitual  to  him,  he 
advanced  a  little  closer  on  his  dancing  bay,  and  addressed 
her: 

"I  fear  I  am  a  tresspasser,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her 
with  the  grave  eyes  that  lent  a  touch  of  melancholy  to  his 
smile;  "I  must  beg  your  forgiveness  for  this  intrusion;  the 
thick  turf  was  so  tempting,  and  I  was  rash  enough  to  try  a 
short-cut  to  the  house.  General  Woldham  kindly  called  on 
me,  at  Widley  Grange,"  he  added,  as  a  sort  of  self-introduc- 
tion.   *'I  hope  I  may  find  him  at  home  ?" 

The  girl,  returning  his  gaze  with  an  easy  directness  charm- 
ing in  its  modest  absence  of  self -consciousness,  answered, 
smiling  back: 

"I  am  Maude  Woldham — ^my  father  is  out  driving;  but  he 
cannot  be  long  now."  Her  voice  was  singularly  harmonious, 
and  it  fell  pleasantly  on  the  exile's  ear.  Then  she  added, 
releasing  the  retriever,  who,  satisfied  that  his  interference 
was  no  longer  needed,  bounded  up  to  make  friendly  acquaint- 
ance with  the  horse : 

"But  will  you  not  come  up  to  the  house?  Mr.  Fargus,  is 
it  not?" 

Bowing  acquiescence,  he  accepted  the  offer. 

"I  must  show  you  the  way,"  said  she,  laying  one  hand  on 
the  satin-smooth  neck  of  the  horse.  "No;  pray  do  not  dis- 
mount. I  like  walking  fast,  and  I  am  sure  your  horse  hates 
being  led — I  know  mine  does." 

The  frankness  of  her  manner,  the  maidenly  freedom  of  her 
wide-set  gray  eyes,  the  delightful  ease  of  movement  with 
which  she  stepped  over  the  uneven  ground  and  bravely  kept 
up  with  the  steed's  impatient  gait — all  this  compelled  Far- 
gus' interest  and  admiration. 

His  fair  conductress  brought  him  round  by  the  stables, 
modern  in  their  irreproachable  neatness,  while  delightful  in 
their  carefully  restored  antiquity ;  here,  at  her  call,  clear  and 
true  as  a  silver  bell,  appeared  a  white-haired  groom  to  take 
the  visitor's  horse;  then  they  proceeded  together  into  the 
great,  cool  hall — in  summer-time  the  usual  sitting-room — 
the  wide  doors  of  which  were  open  all  day  to  the  flower- 
scented  air  and  to  all  comers. 

A  smiling  butler,  ancient  like  the  groom,  promptly  api)eared 
with  a  silver  tray  laden  with  tea  and  other  good  things;  Far- 
fU8  sat  down  and  looked,  around  with  increasing  content—- 


66       More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain. 

everything  was  homelike,  hospitable,  simple  with  the  sim- 
plicity which  only  the  most  perfect  refinement  can  produce. 
The  old  hall,  all  oak  from  floor  to  ceiling;  the  bowls  of  roses 
on  the  carved  tables,  darkened  and  polished  by  age  alone;  the 
girl  in  her  young,  warm-blooded  beauty,  and  the  old  house, 
fitting  in  with  the  time-honored  surroimdings  while  gracefully 
contrasting  with  them — it  all  formed  an  attractive  picture  of 
English  home-life  at  its  best. 

On  her  side,  Maude  Woldham,  as  she  poured  the  yellow 
cream  into  his  cup  and  cut  the  home-made  cake,  observed 
her  new  acquaintance  with  a  little  wonder  and  a  good  deal 
of  approval. 

"Yours  is  a  wonderful  mansion!"  said  Fargus,  taking  his 
cup  from  her  slender  hand,  sunburnt  over  its  whiteness  with 
delicate  amber.  "Apart  from  its  actual  beauty,  there  is  that 
ideal  charm  of  old  associations  and  memories  which  fail  us 
so  completely  in  our  surroundings.  We  Americans  who  are 
unpractical  enough  to  hanker  after  such  things  have  to  seek 
them  in  the  mother-country — and  lovely  she  is  to  us." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  our  country,"  answered  the  girl,  with 
kindling  cheek  and  eye;  "and  still  more  that  you  like  my 
home.  I  love  it — every  stick  and  stone  of  the  old  place  is 
dear  to  me.  You  cannot  think  what  a  relief  it  was  to  come 
back  to  it  after  three  months  in  London."  Then,  glancing 
at  him  curiously  and  a  little  shyly,  "I  did  not  know,  how- 
ever, that  Americans  were  ever  unpractical,"  she  added  with 
a  mischievous  smile. 

"I  can  hardly  lay  claim  to  being  the  typical  Jonathan,"  re- 
torted Fargus,  smiling  too;  "and  America  is  a  large  place, 
you  know.  I  come  from  the  South,  where  practicality  is 
scarcely  the  predominant  national  virtue." 

"How  do  you  like  the  Grange  ?" 

"Better  and  better  every  day.  I  congratulate  myself  on 
having  been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  it." 

"And  have  you  made  out  your  relatives  ?" 

"I  have  made  them  out  right  enough,"  said  Fargus  slowly. 
"I  could  claim  kinship,  I  believe,  with  no  less  a  person  than 
the  squire.  By  the  way,  I  like  the  homely  fashion  in  which 
every  one  hereabouts  talks  of  Mr.  Kerr  as  'the  squire,'  just  as 
your  father,  I  hear,  is  *the  general.'  But  I  am  certainly  not 
going  to  do  so.     I  prefer  standing  alone  too  well." 

"So  you  are  kin  to  the  squire,"  Maude  said  musingly. 
"Well,  I  think  you  are  quite  right  in  not  caring  to  claim  the 
connection.  Have  you  seen  your  landlord  yet?  horrid  old 
man !" 

"Then  I  may  infer  the  Kfrr  family  does  not  find  favor  in 
your  eyesi" 


More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain.        67 

"The  Kerr  family?  I  did  not  say  the  family.  Oh,  Lady 
Gwendolin  was  charming,  and  Susie — dear  Susie  Hillyard,  I 
loved  her. 

"She  was  the  squire's  half-sister,"  continued  Maude.  "Mr. 
Hillyard  was  the  Rector  of  Gilham  for  five  years;  that  was 
how  I  knew  them.  Susie  was  like  a  mother  to  me.  Her 
death  was  the  first  sorrow  I  ever  knew." 

"So  she  is  dead  ?"  said  Fargus,  after  a  long  pause. 

"She  died  last  year,  only  six  months  after  her  husband. 
Iler  daughters  live  in  the  village;  they  are  dear  good  girls," 
with  an  expressive  movement  of  shapely  shoulders.  "Yet  so 
unlike  their  mother.  Then  there  is  Charlie,  the  brother — a 
great  man,  they  say,  at  the  University.  And  there  is  another 
Kerr  I  like.  Dear  old  Lewis !"  She  indicated  with  a  smil- 
ing gesture  a  framed  photograph,  half  hidden  behind  the  roses 
on  the  table. 

"May  I  see?"  asked  the  visitor  quietly. 

"Mr.  Fargus,  how  foolish  you  must  think  me!  As  if  all 
this  could  possibly  interest  you." 

"I  assure  you,"  said  the  other,  still  extending  his  hand,  "it 
interests  me  exceedingly  to  hear  about  these  people.  Now 
this  other  Kerr,  whose  portrait — thank  you." 

He  took  the  portrait  to  the  light.  The  same  face  as  in  the 
Sandhurst  one,  which  even  now,  in  a  hidden  recess  of  his 
pocketbook,  lay  on  his  breast;  but  older,  manlier,  more  vig- 
orous. 

"You  seem  quite  absorbed  in  your  soldier  cousin,"  said  the 
girl. 

Fargus  put  down  the  portrait. 

"Your  English  uniforms,  with  their  perpetual  changes,  are 
a  puzzle  to  me,"  he  said  with  an  effort.  "I  dare  say  I,  too, 
should  have  liked  that — extremely  distant  relative  of  mine. 
Now,  where  does  he  come  in  ?" 

"Oh,  he  has  a  strange  history.  His  father,  poor  Susie's 
brother,  was,  it  seems,  a  very  wild  young  man.  He  married 
a  lovely  Spanish  woman,  and  a  year  had  not  gone  by  when 
he  was  drowned.  She  died,  in  Spain,  when  Lewis  was  a 
baby,  and  Lewis  was  brought  up  by  his  grandfather,  and  only 
came  to  England  on  his  death.  Susie  loved  him  so,  and  it 
was  when  he  was  staying  with  her  that  I  saw  him  first.  Mr. 
Hillyard  brought  him  over  to  the  Court,  and  you  cannot 
conceive  his  uncle's  rudeness  to  him — at  his  own  table,  too. 
We  were  there — ^papa  and  I — and  it  made  us  so  angry  that  we 
had  the  boy  to  Woldham  on  the  spot.  Dad  and  I  always 
think  alike. 

"That  finished  the  squire  with  me  forever,  you  know.  So 
I  do  not  think  Lewis  had  much  loss  there.    He  went  to  papa 


68        More  Links  in  tlie  Golden  Chain, 

for  advice  in  everything,  and  now  my  dear  old  dad,  having 
done  such  a  lot  for  him,  is  as  proud  as  Punch  of  his  protege, 
follows  all  the  Gazettes,  and  thinks  him  on  the  highroad  to 
glory.  It  seems  he  has  done  wonderfully  well  for  the  short 
time  he  has  been  in  the  service." 

The  father  listened  in  silence.  Susie  dead!  He  had 
feared  to  meet  his  sister — ^partly  for  the  perspicacity  of  her 
loving  eyes ;  partly,  on  the  other  hand,  from  a  repugnance  to 
be  greeted  as  a  stranger  by  her  who  had  been  the  one  pure 
affection  of  his  youth. 

And  now  she  was  beyond  his  discovery  I  .  .  .  Well,  the 
slender  pink-cheeked  little  sister  of  his  young  days  would  still 
live  for  him.  But  he  would  yet  devise  some  good  for  her 
children.  She  had  not  deserted  his  as  he — the  father — had 
done;  ay,  and  like  the  highly  virtuous  Squire  of  Gilham, 
who  had  seen  fit  to  visit  the  father's  sins  upon  the  innocent 
son!  Fargus'  cheek  glowed  at  the  indignity  he  would  have 
smiled  at  had  it  been  offered  to  himself. 

All  that  was  bitter.  Yet  sweetness  was  there,  too,  coming 
from  this  fair-faced,  starry-eyed  girl,  who  spoke  so  bravely 
of  his  boy,  and  touched  his  portrait  with  such  tender  fingers. 

Fargus  aroused  himself  from  his  fit  of  abstraction  in  time 
to  see  Maude  turn  joyfully  to  a  white-haired,  erect  old  man, 
who  had  appeared  at  the  open  door,  and  proudly  lead  him 
forward  to  introduce  him  as  her  father. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  sir;  glad  to  see  you!"  said  the  general, 
who  had  little  bright-blue  eyes  under  immense  bushes  of 
white  eyebrows,  and  an  air  of  extreme  military  severity  which 
ill  concealed  a  kindness  almost  amounting,  as  all  said  who 
were  fortunate  enough  to  know  him  well,  to  weak-mindedness. 
"This  puss  would  not  let  you  go,  she  tells  me;  I  am  glad  of 
it." 

"I  did  not  need  much  pressing,"  said  Fargus,  returning  the 
cordial  handshake. 

The  old  man  subjected  him  to  a  scrutinizing,  twinkling 
survey,  and  marched  him  off  to  the  smoking-room  in  a  most 
friendly  manner.  His  comfortable  opinion  was  enhanced  on 
the  production  of  a  deep-colored  pipe  from  the  stranger's  case, 
and  when,  after  half  an  hour's  genial  conversation,  Fargus 
rose  to  take  his  leave,  the  general  seized  the  pretext  of  a 
passing  shower  to  press  him  to  remain  and  dine  there  in  so 
homely  and  hospitable  a  manner  that  refusal  would  have 
seemed  ungracious. 

It  was  a  pleasant  meal. 

Fargus  heard  nothing  more  that  evening  on  what  lay  near- 
est to  his  heart.  On  the  contrary,  the  turn  of  conversation 
obliged  him  to  talk  much  himself  and  often  about  himself. 


More  Links  in  the  Golden  Chain.        69 

The  general's  innocent  curiosity  about  the  New  World  and 
his  own  experiences  were  such  that  he  could  not,  without 
affectation,  have  avoided  doing  so. 

Presently  the  general  made  a  discovery  which  brought  his 
delight  to  a  culminating  point. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  military  questions — the  old 
soldier,  as  Maude  said,  was  never  thoroughly  happy  unless  he 
talked  shop.  After  delivering  himself  of  divers  very  sage 
remarks  on  the  War  of  Secession,  in  which  he  displayed  the 
most  guileless  state  of  fog  on  the  complicated  history  of  that 
movement,  and  after  being  tactfully  set  right  by  Fargus,  he 
suddenly  exclaimed,  good-humoredly : 

"You  miist  have  been  something  more  than  a  looker-on,  I'll 
warrant." 

"I  raised  and  commanded  a  regiment  of  horse  under  Lee," 
answered  Fargus  in  his  quiet  manner. 

Maude  looked  up  quickly  at  the  long  scar  which  started 
from  the  iron-gray  wave  of  hair  at  the  temple  and  disappeared 
in  the  close-trimmed  peaked  beard ;  her  father  was  silent  for 
a  moment.  But  as  the  visitor  attempted,  unobtrusively,  to 
launch  another  topic,  the  general  exploded. 

"Why,  damme!"  he  exclaimed,  in  his  excitement,  "you  do 
not  mean  to  say  you  are  the  Colonel  Fargus?  How  stupid 
of  me!  I  should  have  recognized  the  name  at  once.  But 
why  have  you  dropped  your  rank  ?  Why  hide  a  glorious  title, 
sir?" 

"Oh,"  rejoined  Fargus,  "remember  we  were  rebels.  More- 
over, among  the  Yankees,  colonels,  even  generals,  are  rather 
common." 

But  the  general  was  started.  He  would  have  no  evasions ; 
the  Potomac,  Gettysburg,  all  the  terrible  and  gallant  episodes 
of  that  obstinate  struggle,  had  to  be  descanted  on,  until  Maude 
saw,  perhaps  with  some  relief,  the  quartet  of  small  Wold- 
hams  trooping  in  for  dessert. 

This  created  a  diversion.  It  was  pretty  to  see  them  run  to 
Maude,  to  see  her  bright  girl-face  soften  with  a  maternal 
tenderness,  to  watch  the  liberality,  tempered  by  prudence, 
with  which  she  distributed  good  things  among  the  little  folks. 
The  children,  chubby-faced,  clean-skinned,  satisfactory  speci- 
mens of  the  young  generation,  hung  round  the  elder  sister, 
and  peered  at  the  stranger's  commanding  face  with  round 
blue  eyes.  But  his  smile  and  gentle  voice  soon  won  them 
from  their  fears,  and  before  long  the  two  youngest  hopes 
found  themselves  seated,  one  on  each  knee,  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  his  repeating  watch. 

Presently  Maude  rose,  observing  that  Billy  Winky  was 
coming,  and  marshaled  the  little  battalion  bedward. 


70  The  Dance  of  Death. 

There  was  the  presiding  genie  of  that  house  that  had,  it 
seenaed,  always  held  out  its  hospitality  to  the  fatherless  boy, 
where  he  had  found  friendship  and  support,  where  Susie  was 
talked  of  in  loving  words. 

She  heard  the  champing  of  Colonel  Fargus'  horse  and  the 
beat  of  a  restless  hoof  on  the  gravel  beneath  the  window ;  then 
her  father's  cheery  "Good-night,"  then  the  retreating  sound 
of  the  horse's  feet  along  the  winding  road  until  it  faded  into 
the  night's  stillness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  DANCE    OF    DEATH. 

Before  a  week  had  elapsed  the  tenant  of  the  **Lone  Grange" 
had  glided  into  close  and  friendly  relations  with  his  neigh- 
bors of  the  half -timber  house.  The  general  had  stopped  once 
or  twice,  on  his  way  to  or  from  the  county  town,  to  smoke  half 
a  pipe  and  have  another  interesting  chat  with  his  new  ac- 
quaintance, each  time  conveying  him  back  in  triumph  to 
lunch  or  dinner  at  the  Hall,  where  Maude  always  gave  him 
the  welcome.  The  Hall  party,  children  and  all,  had  come  to 
tea  at  the  Grange,  where  Maude  had  taken  possession  of  the 
tea-table,  under  the  spreading  chestnut,  and  ministered  to 
her  host's  comfort,  while  he  looked  on  in  aesthetic  enjoyment 
of  the  situation. 

Round  the  central  figure  of  the  group,  that  image  of  radiant 
girlhood  and  womanly  sweetness,  he  had  already  b^;un,  half 
unconsciously,  to  weave  a  series  of  rosy  schemes,  in  which  a 
certain  unknown  son  of  his  played  a  prominent  part.  For 
Maude  spoke  of  Lewis  frequently,  and  always  with  affection- 
ate interest.  It  was  Lewis  who  had  given  her  the  black  re- 
triever, her  faithful  guardian;  it  was  Lewis  who  had  set  up 
the  basket  swing  for  the  children — ^they  were  then  toddling 
babies ;  Lewis  who  had  first  ridden  her  bay  pony,  etc.,  etc. 

Fargus,  with  much  private  satisfaction,  had  drawn  his  own 
surmises.  Indeed,  he  ended  by  settling  quite  comfortably  in 
his  own  mind  that  the  young  mistress  of  Woldham  was  an 
attraction  which  must  inevitably  draw  the  boy  there  as  soon 
as  might  be  on  his  arrival. 

It  was  therefore  a  grievous  blow  to  all  his  plans  when,  after 
some  three  weeks  of  this  pleasant  intercourse,  Maude's  im- 
mediate departure  for  a  month's  stay  at  Hombnrg  with  an 
invalid  aunt  was  announced.    The  girl  herself  evinced  9, 


tht  Dance  of  Death.  yt 

Vexation  which  corroborated  his  own  private  ideas.  There 
was  a  cloud  on  her  face,  usually  so  bright. 

"Oh,  how  I  do  wish  I  could  stop  here!  But  Aunt  Annie 
is  so  delicate,  and  as  I  half  promised  her  in  London,  and  now 
she  counts  upon  me,  I  cannot  leave  her  in  the  lurch.  As  for 
dad,  though  he  has  the  boys,  he  is  always  miserable  when  I 
am  away.  Happily,  he  has  got  you ;  you  will  go  and  see  him 
now  and  again,  will  you  not  ?" 

She  gently  drew  her  fingers  from  the  friendly  grasp  which 
had  grown  warm  and  close  round  them.  Looking  up  to  him 
with  swimming  eyes,  she  met  his  kindly,  searching  glance. 
But  he  could  not  put  his  sympathy  in  words.  It  would  be 
sad  indeed,  when  the  young  soldier  came  home  in  the  first 
flush  of  his  joy,  to  find  his  mistress,  the  light  of  the  old 
place,  gone! 

The  next  morning  came  a  letter  to  the  Grange. 

Not  an  interesting  missive  to  look  at;  a  long  envelope,  in- 
dited in  a  clerk-like  hand,  dated  from  the  "Private  Inquiry 
Office,"  set  forth  that  the  troop-ship  on  board  which,  as  had 
been  ascertained,  Lieutenant  L.  G.  Kerr  was  a  passenger,  had 
been  spoken  off  Gibraltar  on  the  previous  Saturday,  and  was 
expected  to-morrow  at  Portsmouth,  whither  an  agent  was 
about  to  proceed,  to  report  daily  the  movements  of  the  gen- 
tleman. 

Fargus  turned  from  the  window  with  a  sigh  and  a  smile. 
Was  he  building  on  sand,  after  all?  He  knew  that  his  son 
was  a  scholar,  a  keen  soldier — also  a  favorite  in  a  certain 
guileless,  warm-hearted  family;  but  that  was  all.  There 
might  yet  be  bitter  disappointment  for  these  hoi)es  which  had 
waxed  so  strong  of  late.  Well,  well,  these  first  movements  of 
the  boy — ^which,  poor  fellow!  he  little  suspected  were  to  be 
noted  and  reported  on — would  no  doubt  reveal  the  young 
man's  real  character. 

This  plan  of  spying  on  his  son  had  been  prompted  by  a 
desire  so  free  from  all  vulgar  curiosity,  so  pure  and  unselfish 
in  its  ends,  that  it  had  now  lost  all  its  odious  significance  to 
the  father.  He  waited  for  the  morrow's  letter  with  deep 
anxiety. 

As  he  stood  thus  absorbed  in  thought,  again  feeding  upon 
the  future,  despite  all  wiser  determinations,  the  door  was 
opened  by  Turner's  noiseless  hand,  and  the  latter  announced, 
with  his  usual  soft  impressiveness,  "Mr.  Hillyard." 

Fargus  laid  down  his  pipe.  With  some  emotion  rose  be- 
fore him  the  image  of  the  toddling  infant  boy  at  Susie's 
knee.  And  he  turned  round  with  a  cordial  smile  to  greet  his 
sister's  only  son.    But  the  first  glance  was  a  disappointment. 


7^  Itht  Dance  ot  Death. 

There  was  naught  in  the  visitor's  features  or  countenance 
which  recalled  the  dear  memory. 

The  keen  face,  with  its  pallid  beauty;  the  gray  eyes,  ob- 
servant and  secretive;  the  powerful  forehead  and  the  firm 
mouth,  the  cool,  self-possessed  bearing  of  the  stranger  for 
whom  he  had  that  instant  felt  a  movement  of  spontaneous 
affection,  although  eliciting  his  admiration  at  once,  made  a 
chilling  impression.  There  was  naught  of  Susie  there.  It 
was  only  a  presentment  of  the  father,  a  man  whom  Fargus 
knew  to  have  been  both  good  and  true,  but  for  whom  George 
Kerr  had  never  had  other  sympathy  than  that  produced  by 
tne  knowledge  of  his  little  sister's  happiness. 

"While  I  am  happy.  Colonel  Fargus,"  the  visitor  said,  as 
they  shook  hands,  speaking  in  a  clear,  precise,  rather  high- 
toned  voice,  "to  profit  by  this  opportunity  on  my  own  account, 
I  must  first  of  all  inform  you  that  I  come  here  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  my  uncle,  Mr.  Kerr,  with  whom  I  am  stopping  a 
few  days.  lie  has  asked  me  to  call  upon  you,  and  to  express 
his  regret  that  his  present  weak  state  of  health  should  debar 
him  from  coming  himself." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  returned  David  Fargus,  mo- 
tioning his  guest  to  an  armchair,  and  pushing  the  box  of 
cigars  toward  him.  "As  for  Mr.  Kerr,  I  shall  myself  visit 
him  at  the  Court." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  do,  colonel," 
said  Charles  Hillyard.  "The  squire  wants  to  know  if  you 
will  waive  ceremony  and  come  to  lunch  to-morrow.  In  the 
country,  you  know,  people  do  not  stand  hard  and  fast  on 
etiquette,  so  you  will  excuse  formalities.  I  believe,  however, 
that  is  not  what  you  suffer  from  most  on  the  other  side  of 
the  ocean." 

"Pray  tell  your  uncle  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  com- 
ing," answered  Fargus,  with  that  grave  simplicity  that  al- 
ways proved  a  barrier  against  undue  familiarity. 

Here  the  conversation  languished  again.  Charles  Hillyard 
looked  curiously  round  the  room,  then,  in  a  puzzled  way,  at 
the  stranger,  who  sat  in  a  dignified  silence  waiting  for  him 
to  speak.     He  made  a  fresh  start. 

**We  have  heard  a  great  deal  about  you  from  General  Wold- 
ham,"  he  said,  with  well-assumed  cordiality,  which  had  not, 
however,  the  genuine  ring  to  his  listener's  ear.  "He  rode  over 
to  see  the  squire  yesterday,  and  spoke  mainly  about  you  and 
your  prowess.    You  have  quite  won  his  heart,  colonel." 

Under  the  grave  gaze  fixed  on  him  Charles  Hillyard  faltered 
a  little,  and  the  cheeriness  of  the  last  remark  was  slightly 
overdone  in  consequence. 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Fargus,  smiling,  "did  not  the 


The  Dance  of  Death.  73 

general  also  tell  you  that  when  I  had  done  with  my  military 
life  I  bade  good-by  likewise  to  military  rank?  I  do  not  call 
myself  colonel." 

The  gentle  rebuke  brought  a  quick  flush  of  surprise  and  a 
light  glow  of  annoyance  to  the  visitor's  face.  ^ 

"Pray  forgive  me,"  he  said,  with  instinctive  good  breeding, 
"though  my  mistake  was  a  natural  one.  To  those  who  have 
read  something  of  your  national  conflict,  it  is  hard  to  dis- 
sociate the  name  of  Fargus  from  the  prefix  under  which  it 
has  become  so  well  known." 

The  elder  man  acknowledged,  in  his  own  mind,  the  clever- 
ness with  which  his  nephew  had  disengaged  himself;  he  ap- 
preciated, too,  the  tact  the  young  man  now  showed  in  not 
resting  on  the  complimentary  amendment,  but  changing  the 
subject  naturally  by  a  question  about  the  Lone  Grange. 

"We  lived  here  after  my  father's  death — until  my  poor 
mother  followed  him,  in  fact."  The  sadness  that  deepened  in 
Fargus'  eyes  was  absent  from  Charles'  unsoftened  face.  "I 
know  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  old  place,"  he  went  on. 
"Do  you  not  find  it  rather  large  and  rambling  ?" 

"I  have  made  a  nest  for  myself  in  these  four  ground-floor 
rooms;  the  rest  is  condemned,  save,  of  course,  servants'  of- 
fices, which  are  sufficiently  remote  to  be  ignored  altogether. 
I  am  perfectly  content." 

"It  is  a  curious  choice,"  commented  Charles. 

Charles  looked  at  his  cigar  meditatively  for  a  while,  then, 
after  another  rather  hard  stare  at  his  host,  rose  to  take  his 
leave, 

"Well,  then,  to-morrow  at  one  o'clock,"  said  Charles,  with 
his  spasmodic  friendliness. 

The  other  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  where  he  remained 
a  few  seconds  after  his  guest's  departure,  lost  in  thought. 

As  the  young  man's  slight,  well-balanced  figure  rounded 
the  grass-plot  and  passed  by  the  overgrown  garden,  a  shrill, 
childish  voice  cleaved  the  air. 

"Well,  Charlie,  have  you  measured  him  ?    How  long  is  he  ?" 

"Playing  truant  again,  I  see !"  he  said  sharply,  then  shook 
his  finger  and  passed  on. 

"Who  is  it.  Turner  ?"  asked  Fargus,  in  some  surprise,  turn- 
ing to  the  servant,  who  was  hovering  near  the  door  after 
letting  the  visitor  out. 

"The  young  masters  from  Woldham  Hall,  if  you  please, 
sir,"  replied  that  discreet  person.  "They  said  they  preferred 
to  wait  till  Mr.  Hillyard  had  gone,  and  they  would  stroll  in 
the  garden.  The  cook,  sir,  wanted  to  interfere,  as  they  was 
eating  the  peaches,  but  I  said  that  I  thought  you  would  be 
displeased  if  they  were  disturbed." 


74  The  Dance  of  Death. 

"Quit©  right.  Turner.  Tell  the  cook  all  the  peaches  are 
to  be  reserved  for  the  young  gentlemen.  And  ask  them  to 
come  in." 

But  at  that  moment  there  put  in  an  appearance  on  the 
greensward  two  sturdy  little  figures,  which  made  up  for 
shortness  of  limb  and  chubbiness  of  cheek  by  a  prodigous 
amount  of  mouse-colored  cord  gaiters,  an  easy  carriage  of 
the  hands  in  trouser  pockets,  and  an  independent  manner 
of  walking, 

"Good-afternoon,  sir,"  said  the  elder  of  these  persons,  who 
had  three  more  buttons  to  his  gaiters  than  the  yoimger  and 
weaker  copy  of  himself,  lifting  his  cap. 

"How  do  you  do,  my  man  ?"  said  Fargus,  in  far  too  com- 
plete sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  his  small  visitor  to  think 
of  kissing  the  fruit-stained  face. 

"We  just  rode  over  to  see  you,"  continued  the  sportsaian, 
"'cause  it's  so  dull  at  home  without  Muddie.  Yes,  thanks, 
I'd  like  tea,  and  so  would  Tom.  We've  had  fruit  in  the 
garden.  Cook  came  out  with  a  rolling-pin,  but  Turner  said 
we  might  go  on.  We  like  Turner.  We  didn't  come  in  at 
once,  you  know,  'cause  of  Charlie.  We  thought  we'd  wait, 
'cause  we  don't  like  Charlie." 

The  pair  sat  down  side  by  side  on  the  sofa,  with  the  gait- 
ered  legs  a  long  way  off  the  ground,  and  smiled  confidently 
at  their  host,  who  looked  back  at  them  with  pleasure  and  ten- 
derness. 

Lewis,  too,  had  no  doubt  been  just  as  sturdy,  brave-hearted 
a  little  lad.  What  pleasures,  of  the  purest  in  existence,  had 
not  his  father  deliberately  denied  himself,  when  he  had  left 
to  others  the  task  of  leading  the  little  spirit  from  childhood 
to  boyhood. 

"Did  Charlie  measure  you?"  burst  forth  the  elder  boy 
again.  "I  shouldn't  have  let  him  measure  me;  I'd  have  hit 
him  in  the  eye,  I  would.    Did  you  hit  him  in  the  eye?" 

"Not  exactly,"  said  the  man  gravely;  "but  I  did  not  let 
him  measure  me." 

The  boy  swung  his  legs  ecstatically. 

"He  came  last  night  to  dinner,  you  know.  Father  talked 
of  you;  father  likes  you,  so  do  we;  we  think  you  are  the 
nicest  man  we  ever  saw.  Charlie  said  he  thought  you  would 
turn  out  a  fr — ,  a  fr — ,  it  wasn't  a  frog,  but  it  was  something 
like  it.  And  he  said  he'd  soon  take  your  measure.  Father 
said  you  were  a  gi-eat  man,  and  father  got  quite  red  and 
rapped  the  table,  and  we  laughed,  and  Muddie  told  us  to  keep 
quiet.  Muddie  and  Charlie  walked  up  and  down  on  the  ter- 
race afterward,  and  when  Muddie  came  to  put  us  to  bed  her 
face  was  quite  red,  too.    And  she  wouldn't  talk  a  bit.    And 


Tlie  Dance  of  Death.  75 

when  she  kissed  us,  I  said,  *I  hate  Charlie,  Muddie;  I  love 
Mr.  Fargus.'   And  now  I'll  have  tea,  and  so  will  Tom." 

"And  so  my  clever  nephew  thinks  I  am  a  fraud !"  said  Far- 
gus  to  himself,  as  the  little  pair,  escorted  by  the  respectfully 
protective  Turner,  at  length  departed  full  of  cake  and  bliss, 
and  proud  joint-possessors  of  an  Indian  arrow. 

Next  morning  the  bay  horse  carried  his  master  across  the 
purple  heather,  on  to  the  well-known  Gilham  road,  through 
the  great  gates,  under  the  limes  and  chestnuts ;  finally  before 
that  picturesque  massive  pile  that  had  seen  the  dawn  of 
George  Kerr's  strange  life. 

"All  comes  in  time  to  him  who  can  wait,"  thought  Fargus, 
as  he  dismounted  before  the  porch  he  had  not  seen  for  some 
thirty  years.  "Ah!  good-morning."  This  aloud  to  his 
nephew,  who  appeared  on  the  steps  and  gracefully  came  for- 
ward to  receive  him. 

He  ushered  the  visitor  into  the  dining-hall  with  an  apology. 
"If  you  do  not  mind  waiting  a  second  or  two — this  is  the 
most  ancient  part  of  the  Court,  contains  the  best  pictures, 
and  is  generally  supposed  to  be  the  show-room — I  will  go  and 
announce  your  arrival." 

And  thus  did  David  Fargus  find  himself  once  more  under 
the  converging  gaze  of  his  ancestors. 

"Back  at  last,  after  thirty  years!"  he  muttered  in  answer 
to  their  mute  greeting.  "And  only  home,  after  all,  under  a 
false  character.  What  do  you  think  of  him?"  And  slowly 
he  went  round  the  room,  stopping  to  interpellate  each  vigor- 
ous old  Kerr  face  with  half-smliing,  half -sad  recognition. 

The  stern  blue  eyes  of  William  Kerr  looked  down  re- 
proachfully at  his  son.  "How  could  you  give  up  our  name, 
deny  our  country  and  our  forefathers !"  And  yet  the  kindly 
moutk  whispered  to  the  mind's  ear  another  greeting:  "It  is 
well  you  have  come  back  at  last — do  not  go  again." 

It  was  a  noble  portrait. 

Full  of  unwonted  emotion  under  the  memories  of  that 
long-forgotten  affection  of  his  childhood,  Fargus  turned  to 
seek,  in  the  feminine  gallery,  for  the  delicate  outline  of  the 
young  mother  who  had  died  in  giving  him  birth. 

But  although  female  ascendants  figured  in  goodly  array 
and  almost  unbroken  sequence,  from  the  languorous-eyed, 
curly  locked,  very  bare-bosomed  beauties  of  Restoration  days, 
to  the  smiling,  good-natured  image  of  her  who  had  been  his 
step-brother's  faithful  wife,  the  sweet  young  face  which  in 
former  days  had  hung  in  the  place  of  honor  over  the  high 
mantel-board  had  disappeared. 

"William  all  over !"  said  he  to  himself,  with  a  sudden  up- 
rising of  the  fiery  spirit  he  had  believed  dead  this  many  a 


76 


The  Dance  of  Death. 


year.    "And  it  tallies  well  with  his  treatment  of  my  boy. 
But  may  be  he  has  not  done  with  that  branch  of  his  family 

yet." 

The  opening  door  and  the  slow  advance  of  a  gaunt  and 
tottering  figure  broke  in  upon  this  train  of  thought,  and 
David  Fargus,  turning,  saw  the  present  head  of  his  race.  He 
had  been  prepared  for  a  change,  but  this  wreck  of  a  strong 
man  he  had  not  looked  for.  The  squire  was,  after  all,  but 
sixteen  years  or  so  older  than  he;  but  while  he  felt,  in  mind 
and  body,  all  the  vigor  of  maturity,  his  brother  was  indeed 
an  old  man — his  face  bore  that  drawn,  distressed  look  which 
so  painfully  betrays  the  loss  of  vital  power. 

jRe  received  Fargus  with  a  feeble  reflex  of  the  pomposity 
which  had  once  been  so  irritating  to  the  latter.  For  one  in- 
stant, as  they  took  their  seats  at  the  table,  Fargus  felt  his 
self-possession  fail  him  beneath  a  curiously  intent  look  which 
appeared  suddenly,  like  the  up-leaping  of  a  dying  flame,  in 
the  squire's  eyes.  But  the  danger  was  over  almost  as  soon 
as  perceived. 

"I  thought  I  had  seen  you  somewhere  before  this,"  the 
old  man  muttered,  "but  it  was  a  mistake." 

Then  he  drew  himself  together  and  addressed  his  visitor  on 
the  broad  subject  of  America,  after  the  interested  manner  of 
an  English  county  gentleman  who  has  a  proper  appreciation 
of  the  superiority  of  his  own  status. 

"My  son,  sir,  has  just  been  there,"  he  explained  with  com- 
placent civility.  "He  is  a  great  traveler,  and  is  making  the 
Grand  Tour — in  our  days  a  Grand  Tour  must  needs  be  round 
the  world." 

"Lucky  fellow!"  put  in  Charles  in  his  dry  way. 

"He  has  been  two  years  away.  He  is  my  only  son  now, 
and  we  English  landowners  think  our  heirs  should  remain 
as  much  as  possible  on  the  estate,  that  they  may  learn  the 
duties  of  their  position  in  life." 

Fargus  admired,  as  the  meal  proceeded,  the  tact  and  pa- 
tience with  which  Charles  humored  his  uncle.  For  his  part, 
he  strove  to  maintain  the  conversation  at  a  tolerable  degree 
of  interest.  But  the  elaborately  served  and  lengthy  repast 
was  so  like  those  which  used,  in  days  gone  by,  to  try  his 
boyish  patience  so  terribly,  that  it  produced  an  almost  dream- 
like effect  upon  him. 

Fargus  found  it  hard  to  combat  the  melancholy  that  was 
taking  possession  of  his  soul,  though  the  fare  was  of  the  best, 
though  Charles  spoke  brilliantly  and  interestingly — as  though 
with  the  desire  of  effacing  the  disagreeable  impression  of  the 
previous  day — though  the  squire  himself,  when  they  ad- 
journed to  the  terrace  for  coffee  and  cigars,  had  wonderfully 


The  Dance  of  Death.  77 

unbent  to  his  guest  and  seemed  a  little  brightened  and  in- 
vigorated. 

Suddenly  a  tall  figure  appeared  on  the  sward  and  hurried 
toward  them.  At  sight  of  him  Fargus  started  to  his  feet 
with  a  presentment  of  evil.  It  was  only  the  rector,  but  his 
was  a  palid,  disturbed  face,  and  he  held  an  orange-colored 
envelope  in  his  hand.  The  squire,  undisturbed  by  such  fore- 
bodings, called  out,  for  him,  quite  cheerily: 

"Halloa,  Mr.  Mivart !  You  are  jiist  in  time  for  a  cup  of 
coffee." 

The  unwilling  messenger  of  evil  gave  a  piteous  look  at 
Charles. 

"What  is  it?"  whispered  the  latter  hastily. 

"Bad  news." 

The  old  man  caught  the  words.  He  rose  at  once,  straight- 
ening his  feeble  form  to  rigid  attention. 

"My  son?"  he  cried  in  a  loud  voice. 

After  a  terrible  attempt  to  break  gradually  the  whole  mis- 
fortune to  the  unhappy  father,  the  truth  had  to  be  told. 
His  son,  the  last  remaining  child,  was  dead. 

For  a  moment  the  squire  stood  with  outstretched  arms; 
then  his  face  grew  purple,  his  eyes  started  from  their  orbits ; 
before  they  could  receive  him  in  their  arms,  so  swiftly  came 
the  stroke,  he  had  fallen  forward  on  the  walk. 

As  they  raised  him,  and  beheld  the  distorted  countenance 
streaming  with  blood,  the  swollen  discolored  neck  and  up- 
turned eyes,  Fargus  alone  retained  enough  self-command  to 
give  him  immediate  help. 

"I  have  seen  this  before — cerebral  hemorrhage,"  he  said, 
quickly  loosening  the  old  man's  collar  and  raising  his  head. 
"I  should  bleed  him  if  I  dared.  Charlie,  send  some  one  for 
the  doctor.  You  and  I  must  at  once  bring  him  into  the 
house." 

Charlie  appreciated  the  calmness  and  authority  of  the 
stranger  at  this  crisis,  and  begged  him  to  remain  till  the 
doctor  should  have  made  his  appearance.  The  clergyman 
soon  made  an  excuse  to  withdraw.  Thus  Fargus  and  his 
nephew  found  themselves  silently  watching  in  the  darkened 
room  by  the  stricken  father's  bedside,  listening  to  the  sten- 
torous  breathing  which  alone  betokened  life,  and  busily  re- 
newing the  ice  bandages  they  had  laid  on  his  forehead. 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  tiie  visitor  from  the  Lone  Grange, 
in  his  turn,  was  glad  to  leave.  The  doctor's  look  as  he  had 
bent  over  his  patient  had  been  ominous,  and  confirmed  his 
own  opinion  of  the  case;  within  a  very  short  time  the  last 
but  one,  ostensibly,  of  the  direct  line  in  that  anoieut  house 
would  have  joined  the  majority. 


78  The  Dance  of  Death. 

At  the  moment  when  all  life-energy  would  have  finally 
radiated  away  from  that  prostrate  body,  the  rightful  owner- 
ship of  those  noble  lands,  the  headship  of  "name,  arms  and 
estates,"  would  devolve,  de  jure,  on  the  stranger  of  the  Lone 
Grange,  but  de  facto,  unless  the  latter  chose  to  prove  his 
identity,  on  a  certain  young  soldier  who,  surely,  was  far 
from  dreaming  of  such  an  accession  of  fortune. 

The  letter  which  awaited  him  on  his  hall  table — in  the 
envelope  of  the  "Argus  Office" — was,  at  such  a  juncture,  in- 
vested with  a  new  solemnity  of  interest.  It  ran,  however, 
thus: 

"Dear  Sir:  In  accordance  with  your  request,  one  of  our 
agents  yesterday  attended  at  Portsmouth  on  the  arrival  of 
the  Crocodile  troop-ship,  and  thus  reports  on  the  movements 
of  the  officer  whom  you  wish  us  to  watch. 

"The  gentleman  in  question  did  not  seem  to  have  any  duty 
to  see  to.  Soon  after  disembarking,  about  11  a,  M.,  having 
arranged  about  his  personal  luggage,  went  to  the  Naval  Club 
in  company  with  a  friend.  About  an  hour  later  he  came  out 
alone,  took  a  long  walk  by  himself  along  Southsea  Beach, 
returning  in  time  to  catch  the  afternoon  train  to  London, 

"FromWaterloo  Station  he  drove  straight  to  Staples  Inn, 
Chancery  Lane  (where  he  has  rooms  inscribed  with  his 
name).  He  came  out,  three  hours  later,  in  evening  dress, 
drove  to  the  Army  and  Navy  Club,  Pall  Mall,  and,  after  an 
interval,  apparently  for  dinner,  walked  over  to  the  St.  James' 
Theatre,  where  he  engaged  a  stall.  He  had  no  intercourse 
with  any  one,  and  after  the  performance  walked  leisurely 
back  to  his  rooms  in  Staples  Inn. 

"We  will  continue  to  acquaint  you  daily  with  the  results 
of  our  observations.  We  are,  etc.,  etc." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  Fargus  laid  down  the  letter.  Simple 
enough,  these  "movements,"  yet  pleasing  in  their  very  sim- 
plicity, and,  coupled  with  what  he  already  knew  concerning 
the  young  man's  energy  and  courage,  completing  the  favor- 
able portrait  he  had  so  laboriously  collated.  He  would  be 
worthy  of  the  new  and  weighty  position  he  would  so  soon  be 
called  upon  to  fill. 

The  next  morning  early  he  rode  over  to  the  Court.  Charles 
Hillyard  was  standing  in  the  porch. 

The  squire  was  dead,  and  Fargus,  tactfully  shortening  the 
interview,  rode  away  in  a  very  reflective  mood. 

Once  more  in  his  own  room,  he  sat  down  to  write  a  short 
note  to  the  "Argus  Office." 

"Dear  Sm:    Be  pleased  to  look  at  the  obituary  notices  in 


The  Dance  of  Death.  79 

the  morning  papers  during  the  next  few  days,  and,  as  soon 
as  you  notice  announcement  of  the  death  of  Mr.  William 
Kerr,  of  Gilham,  Yorkshire,  to  forward  at  once  a  copy  of  the 
paper,  with  the  entry  very  conspicuously  marked,  to  Mr.  L. 
G.  Kerr,  at  his  chambers  in  Staples  Inn. 

"You  will  understand  that  this  must  be  done  in  a  strictly 
anonymous  manner." 

"This,  I  fancy,  will  bring  the  boy  down — for  the  funeral, 
at  least,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  closed  the  letter. 

But,  three  days  later,  when  that  ceremonial  took  place,  and 
Fargus  attended  at  the  Court,  among  the  numerous  guests 
assembled  to  render  the  last  honors  to  the  host,  there  was  no 
one  to  be  seen  who  could  in  any  way  be  taken  for  the  person 
he  so  longed  to  meet. 

After  that  solemn  rite,  with  its  painful,  unnecessary,  at- 
tendant pomp  and  show,  much  disappointed  and  perplexed, 
the  father  walked  back  with  General  Woldham  until  they 
reached  the  point  where  their  homeward  roads  diverged. 

"By  the  way,  general,"  he  asked,  as  if  casually,  "who  comes 
in  for  the  place  now  ?" 

The  general  puffed. 

"Why,  I  suppose  it  will  be  Lewis  Kerr,  now  in  the  — th 
D.  G.  Curiously  enough,  I  was  just  this  instant  talking 
about  him  to  Charles  Hillyard,  who  says  he  ran  up  against 
him  in  town  yesterday.  I  knew  he  must  be  coming  back, 
though  I  did  not  expect  him  so  soon.  But  he  apparently  de- 
clined to  come  down  for  the  funeral." 

"That  is  curious,"  said  Fargus. 

"Very.  It  is  the  last  thing  I  should  have  expected  of  him. 
It  is  not  like  Lewis.  An  event  like  this  should  bury  all 
feuds.     Decency,  sir,  should  have  brought  him  down." 

Fargus  returned  to  his  house  in  a  discontented  mood. 
The  evening  post  brought  a  partial  explanation  of  the 
puzzle,  and  decided  his  own  course  of  action.  The  agent's 
daily  letter  ended  by  the  statement  that,  on  the  evening  of 
th©  previous  day,  Mr.  Kerr  had  driven,  with  luggage,  to  Char- 
ing Cross  Station,  booked  for  Homburg,  Germany,  and 
started  for  the  Continent  by  the  mail.  The  agent  had  parted 
company  with  him  at  Dover,  "not  having  received  instruc- 
tions to  follow  the  gentleman  out  of  England." 


CHAPTEK  V. 

STRANGE  ABODE  OF  A  SCHOLAR  AND  DRAGOON. 

Although  Society  has  been  crowded  out  of  the  man- 
sions of  its  past  glories  by  the  swarming  influx  of  the  toilers 
who  supply  its  ever-increasing  demands,  we  can  yet  count  one 
class  of  men  who,  of  necessity,  live  much  of  their  life  in  the 
original  dwelling-place  of  their  order — the  students  and 
adepts  of  the  law,  who  still  people  those  ancient  colleges,  the 
Inns  of  Court  and  their  dependencies. 

There  stood  in  days  gone  by  a  goodly  number  of  such 
hostels  or  inns,  forming  the  individual  colleges  of  what  our 
old  annalists  termed  the  "Third  Universitie  of  England," 
but  few  have  retained  to  the  present  time  their  collegiate 
character. 

Yet  among  those  institutions  which  have  passed  from  their 
high  estates  as  houses  of  learning  and  dignity  to  the  deg- 
radation of  depending  for  existence  on  lay  patronage,  there 
still  remains  one  whilom  Inn  of  Chancery,  very  much  as  it 
was  beheld  of  Shakespeare  and  inhabited  of  Johnson.  Its 
aspect  on  the  Holborn  front  presents  its  seven  gables,  its 
bulging  corbeled  stories  of  stout  beam  and  hard  petrel,  un- 
touched by  the  ravages  of  time,  practically  unchanged  since 
the  last  Tudor;  and  clinging  to  its  flanks,  as  moss  to  a 
mighty  tree,  may  be  seen  just  such  a  parasitic  growth  of 
booth  and  open  shoplet  as  it,  no  doubt,  always  shielded  from 
the  days  of  its  first  erection.  There  are  the  winding,  crazy 
stairs  that  creaked  beneath  the  great  lexicographer's  ponder- 
ous tread,  the  paneled  rooms  filled  with  the  memories  of 
four  centuries,  the  quiet  courtyards,  oak-ceiled  hall,  capacious 
ghostly  kitchens  and  cellars;  altered  now  in  their  resigned 
decay  from  the  time  when  Stow  wrote  of  the  "Fayrest  Hall  in 
this  great  law  University,"  when  ruffling  mootmen  and  utter 
barristers  filled  chambers  and  gardens  with  as  much  rollick- 
ing life  as  does  the  modem  under-graduate  his  more  prosper- 
ous college  on  the  banks  of  Cam  or  Isis! 

This  is  old  Staple  Inn,  a  too  rare  relic  of  "Old  London" 
architecture,  built  on  the  original  site  of  that  Hall  of  the 
Wool  Staple  Merchants  where  Chaucer  dealt  with  Custom  re- 
ceipts, the  obsolete  cognizance  of  which — a  staple  of  wood — 
is  even  now  borne  on  its  escutcheon. 

Staple  Inn  has  become  rather  shabby  in  itself  and  in  its 
inhabitants.  Fallen  from  the  honorable  intention  of  its 
founders,  it  has  had  to  seek  support  from  such  as  choose  to 


Strange  Abode  of  a  Scholar  and  Dragoon.  8i 

give  it,  and  few  men  who  can  afford  the  comforts  of  modem 
chambers  seem  to  care  for  the  thought  of  settling  in  that 
aged  haunt,  and  any  one  capable  of  appreciating  the  charm 
of  seclusion  in  the  very  heart  cf  London — ^the  charm  of  liv- 
ing amid  scenes  sacred  to  the  doings  and  thinkings  of  so 
many  bygone  generations — could  with  but  little  expenditure 
of  trouble  and  money  make  for  himself  such  a  nest  in  the 
old  rookery  as  he  would  be  loath  to  exchange  for  all  the  nine- 
teenth century  Queen  Anne  glories  of  sky-threatening  man- 
sions in  more  favored  quarters. 

This  is  precisely  what  had  been  done  with  a  set  of  attic- 
rooms  overlooking  Holborn  on  the  one  side,  and  the  sleepy 
courtyard  on  the  other.  They  had  been  cleaned  and  painted 
for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  in  this  century;  their  dingy, 
shivering  casements  replaced  by  new  frames  and  light-stained 
diamond  panes;  the  dilapidated  outer-door  had  made  way  for 
a  solid  "oak"  of  college-pattern,  over  the  lintel  of  which  the 
name  of  the  enterprising  tenant  was  plain  to  see,  in  white 
letters  on  a  black  ground.  The  old  chambers  had  first  as- 
sumed this  unprecedentedly  rejuvenated  aspect  on  becoming 
the  town  residence  of  Mr.  Lewis  G.  Kerr,  B.  A.,  Edin.,  during 
his  under-graduate  days  at  Cambridge.  And  so  dear  to  the 
heart  of  their  occupier  did  they  finally  grow,  that  when,  in 
the  course  of  events,  he  exchanged  the  gown  for  the  sword, 
and  went  over  the  seas  on  his  country's  service,  he  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  to  part  with  his  quaint  pied-a-terre,  but 
kept  it  on  as  the  shrine  of  his  household  gods,  with  the  com- 
fortable feeling  that  here  he  would,  at  least,  always  have  a 
home  to  return  to. 

And  now,  on  a  hot  July  day,  the  young  dragoon,  back 
again  at  last,  bronzed  out  of  all  recognition  by  the  Indian 
sun,  thinned,  hardened,  something  battered  by  long  months 
of  Central  Asian  campaigning  and  a  spell  of  South  African 
experience,  withal  rnore  vigorous  than  ever,  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  his  attic  abode,  between  portmanteaus  and  bullock- 
trunks — gazing  with  dreamy  pleasure  on  the  dusty  surround- 
^  ings  which  brought  him  back  in  imagination  to  so  many 
chapters  of  his  life  now  closed  forever- 
Here,  after  his  regiment,  was  his  home;  in  a  comer,  the 
half-suit  of  armor  worn  by  some  Castilian  ancestor,  about 
which  there  still  hung  the  quaint  old-world  atmosphere  of 
the  proud  though  tumlile-down  home  of  his  boyish  days;  on 
three  of  the  four  walls  the  black-oak  bookcases,  crammed 
with  the  most  motley  collection  of  volvimes,  some  in  the 
gorgeous  armorial  bindings  of  college  prizes. 

Mr.  Kerr  traversed  his  domain  with  a  restless  step,  now 
lightly  fingering  some  dust-covered  chattel  associated  with 


82  Strsynge  Abode  of  a  Scholar  and  Dragoon. 

a  thousand  unimportant  memories,  now  pausing  by  the  door 
to  open  the  solemn  "Grandfather's  clock"  and  restore  its  sus- 
pended animation,  and  through  a  glamourous  illumination  of 
shafts  of  dancing  motes  there  came  back  upon  him,  one  after 
another,  each  different  phase  of  his  past  life,  inextricably  as- 
sociated with  the  memorials  surrounding  him. 

There,  before  him,  hung  the  water-color  sketch  of  his 
father,  in  Highland  uniform,  and  the  miniature  frame  con- 
taining his  Crimean  medal  and  clasps;  the  exquisite  head, 
also  in  water-colors,  of  the  young  mother  who  had  died  in 
giving  him  life ;  they  had  hung  in  his  nursery  in  far  Seville, 
where  he  had  been  taught  to  kiss  them  night  and  morning 
and  babble  a  prayer  for  the  dead  Padrecito  and  Madrecita; 
round  them  were  woven  almost  his  first  memories. 

And  in  a  corner  of  the  bookcase,  affectionately  preserved 
in  all  their  shabbiness  in  a  row  to  themselves,  there  were 
the  queer  old  school-books  in  which  he  had  first  begun  to 
learn  under  the  good  old  English  monk,  chosen  for  the  high 
post  of  tutor  to  the  orphan  boy  as  much  by  reason  of  his 
nationality  as  of  his  attainments. 

What  delightful  hours  those  were  in  the  shady  court! 

How  he  had  longed  for  the  unknown,  far-off  England !  Don 
Atanasio  had  promised  to  bring  him  here  himself  when  he 
was  old  enough  for  an  English  school.  The  dear  old  grand- 
father !  It  was  for  his  conscientious  self-abnegation  in  bring- 
ing up  this,  the  last  scion  of  his  own  race,  as  belonging  by 
greater  right  to  the  dead  father's  country,  that  surely  he, 
Lewis  Kerr,  owed  his  memory  the  keenest  gratitude.  And 
yet  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  go,  and  that  by  himself, 
all  in  his  new  mourning — for  but  a  fortnight  before  they  had 
laid  the  great  hidalgo  in  his  grave — how  bitter  had  been  the 
parting !  How  terrible  it  was  to  feel  so  alone  on  the  thresh- 
old of  a  new  life,  with  no  one  but  a  new  guardian.  Reverend 
Mr.  Hillyard,  unknown  but  as  the  writer  of  two  stiff,  cold 
letters,  between  him  and  absolute  isolation ! 

He  saw  himself  again  on  the  deck  of  the  mighty  steamer 
as  she  throbbed  away  in  the  blue  and  yellow  dawn  from  the 
coast  of  Spain;  a  small,  shivering  boy,  for  all  his  thirteen 
years,  trying  hard  to  combat  the  tears  that  would  rise  to  his 
eyes,  to  struggle  against  the  heavy  pain  at  his  heart,  which, 
nevertheless,  beat  high  with  the  thought  of  seeing  England, 
his  country,  at  last.  And  then  the  arrival.  How  well  he  re- 
membered it  all — the  cold  welcome,  the  sickening  disappoint- 
ment, until  "Aunt  Susie"  first  dawned  upon  his  life,  and  her 
warm  arms  opened  to  the  desolate  little  foreigner,  never  to 
close  to  him  again  until  they  grew  cold  in  death. 

He  had  been  determined  to  assert  his  claim  as  an  English- 


Strange  Abode  of  a  Scholar  and  Dragoon,  S3 

man,  in  spite  of  his  disadvantages;  and  he  had  succeeded. 
Even  before  the  happy  spell  of  student  life  at  Edinburgh,  he 
had  forced  himself  to  the  front,  made  himself  respected  in 
class-room  and  playground.  But,  oh !  that  glorious  feeling  of 
freedom  when  at  sixteen  he  found  himself  practically  his  own 
master  in  the  severe  old  Northern  city,  where  the  rough  but 
genuine  cordiality  of  his  older  fellow-students  made  him,  for 
the  first  time  since  his  arrival  from  the  distant  land  of  his 
birth,  feel  at  home.  That  was  a  happy  era,  for  it  was  during 
his  first  session  there  that  Eobert  Hillyard  was  presented  with 
the  rectorship  of  Gilham,  and  that  thus  was  brought  about 
the  meeting  with  Maude. 

Eight  years  ago !  It  was  quite  a  journey  down  the  stream 
of  life  to  look  back  upon,  and  strange  to  think  that  the  love 
of  a  little  lass  of  fifteen  should  have  outlived  all  the  experi- 
ences, the  long  absences,  the  many  changes. 

She  had  come  upon  him  at  a  very  bitter  moment,  but  the 
warm  partisanship  of  the  gray-blue  eyes,  blazing  from  Tinder 
a  cloud  of  tumbled  brown  hair,  the  thrill  of  the  girl's  voice, 
as  he  had  first  heard  it,  calling  to  him  in  pretty,  eager  con- 
ciliation, had  more  than  made  up  for  the  offense. 

He  turned  half  round  in  his  chair  to  look  for  the  shield 
of  arms,  displayed  over  the  chimney-piece,  between  the  es- 
cutcheon of  Alma  Mater  and  that  of  his  particular  college. 
There  the  "sable  bend,  engrailed,  on  the  field,"  of  Kerr  of 
Gilham,  quartered  the  foreign  and  more  canting  arms  of 
Ayala,  a  "caravel  on  a  stormy  sea,  in  the  heavens  a  solitary 
star." 

And  now  the  contemplation  brought  him  back  to  that 
memorable  forenoon,  the  only  occasion  on  which  he  had  set 
foot  in  Gilham  Court,  when  Aunt  Susie  and  the  rector  had 
marched  him  forth  to  introduce  him  to  the  head  of  his 
family.  As  they  paced  through  the  prosperous  country 
scenery,  he  had  been  amazed  to  hear  that  so  many  of  the 
broad  acres  of  rich  pasture  land,  stretches  of  plowed  fields,  of 
green  woods  and  fern-grown  covers,  belonged  to  Mr.  Kerr,  of 
Gilham,  that  relation  of  his  who  had  never  bestowed  so  much 
as  one  sign  of  interest  on  him.  And  then  a  winding  in  the 
high-hedged  road  brought  them  in  front  of  a  towering  gate- 
way, a  curious  emotion  crept  round  his  heart  as  he  recognized 
in  the  escutcheon  over  the  keeper's  lodge  those  very  arms  of 
Kerr  by  which  he  had  been  taught  in  the  distant  land  of  his 
birth  to  set  such  store.  There  was  the  home  of  his  English 
forefathers ;  his  heart  had  swelled  with  so  many  feelings  that 
he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  In  silence  he  had 
threaded  his  way  up  to  the  noble,  time-mellowed  manorhouse 
that  had  been  his  father's  home.    Would  he  ever  forget  his 


84  Strange  Abode  of  a  Scholar  and  Dragoon. 

reception  ?  How  the  squire  had  all  but  disowned  him,  almost 
shown  hiui  the  door  I 

As,  crimson  with  indignation,  he  had  risen  to  take  his 
leave,  and  shake  oflf  his  feet  the  dust  of  that  inhospitable 
house,  there  sprang  up  in  the  far  end  of  the  great  room  a 
little  figure  with  gold-brown  hair.  Too  confused  then  to  no- 
tice all  that  passed,  he  had  retained  but  disjointed  memories 
of  the  sweetest  face  ever  seen;  of  the  pressure  of  a  little 
bare,  brown  hand;  of  a  tall,  white-haired  man  who  likewise 
loomed  upon  him  in  some  unexpected  way,  and  to  whom 
Aunt  Susie,  pale  and  with  a  troubled  countenance,  intro- 
duced "my  brother's  son ;"  of  pleasant  words  and  warm  prof- 
fers of  hospitality.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  intimacy 
at  Woldham  Hall,  when  life  had  assumed  such  a  new  mean- 
ing under  the  light  of  Maude's  eyes. 

The  dreamer  laid  down  his  burned-out  pipe  and  glanced 
once  more  at  the  coat -of -arms.  His  star !  before  him  always, 
in  fair  weather  or  foul,  in  the  days  when  he  had  fancied 
by  academic  distinctions  to  win  his  fastidious  little  lady's 
favor,  before  he  had  discovered  her  paramount  weakness  for 
"buff  and  burnished  steel,"  and  battlefield  honors.  His  eyes 
wandered  to  the  Trinity  escutcheon  with  its  golden  book, 
closed,  on  the  chief  of  gules.  Those  were  good  days,  too. 
He  did  not  regret  his  present  choice,  for  all  it  had  cost  him 
the  loss  of  that  high  degree  he  had  once  aimed  at,  but  he 
would  always  be  glad  of  his  years  in  the  great  quadrangle. 

"I  wonder  who  would  have  enjoyed  this  superb  Villar  had 
chance  decreed  that  my  bones  now  should  be  blanching  on 
Afghan  gravel,  as  those  of  so  many  better  fellows.  Ah,  I 
suppose  you  would,  old  chap." 

This  mental  apostrophe  was  addressed  to  one  of  the  por- 
traits he  had  just  installed  on  the  writing-table;  that  of  his 
cousin,  quondam  coach,  and  bosom  friend. 

Charles  Hillyard,  Fellow  of  his  College,  lecturer  in  Moral 
Sciences,  a  writer,  already  of  some  note,  was  one  of  those 
men  who  never  can  pass  unnoticed  anywhere.  The  head 
Lewis  was  gazing  at  through  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  was  such 
as  a  Vandyck  would  love  to  paint;  with  aquiline  features, 
high  forehead,  and  deep-set  gray  eyes;  a  thin  but  powerful 
face,  surmounted  by  a  wavy  growth  of  light  hair,  and  ac- 
centuated by  a  light  mustache,  curling  upward  in  a  way  that 
gave  a  curious  permanent  look  of  sarcasm  to  the  grave,  com- 
pressed lips.  It  was  a  face  that  might  have  seemed  equally 
typical  of  cavalier,  artist,  or  thinker. 

"Not  one  of  the  least  pleasant  events  of  my  return  will  be 
the  first  evening  we  spend  again  together,  dear  old  chap,  and 
have  another  of  those  long  jaws  which  used  to  follow  our 


Midnigiit  Confidences.  85 

coaching  in  the  tutor  and  pupil  days.  And,  by  Jove!  I 
must  write  to  you  this  very  evening.  I  dare  say  you  will  not 
be  sorry,  either,  to  see  my  bullet  head  again." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MIDNIGHT  CONFIDENCES. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  next  day  Lewis  was  leisurely 
wending  his  way  back  from  his  club,  his  thoughts  for  the 
moment  much  and  pleasantly  occupied  with  anticipations  of 
proximate  meetings  with  his  old  chum  and  his  friends  in 
the  North. 

As  he  came  through  a  certain  dark  short  cut  for  foot- 
passengers  from  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields — ^which  opens  into  Hol- 
born  just  by  the  glaring  portal  of  that  choice  place  of  enter- 
tainment yclept  "The  Royal,"  there  appeared,  across  the 
torrent  of  light  which  makes  its  entrance  so  obtrusively 
resplendent,  a  certain  tall,  familiar  figure,  a  well-known, 
keen,  pallid  face. 

"The  very  man  himself,  by  Heaven !" 

He  was  rushing  forward,  hand  outstretched  in  all  glee, 
when  a  second  look  brought  him  to  an  abrupt  standstill. 
Charles  was  not  alone;  he  was  doing  escort  duty  to  a  tall 
young  woman,  whose  face  was  concealed  behind  a  thick  veil, 
and  who  held  him  with  close  familiarity  by  the  arm.  She 
was  quietly  and  neatly  dressed,  but  as  ladies  do  not  generally 
perambulate  such  quarters  in  company  with  bachelor  friends 
at  eleven  of  the  night,  Lewis  discreetly  drew  back  into  the 
doorway  of  a  small  tobacco  shop  behind  him,  not  to  put  his 
grave  and  reverend  tutor  of  yore  out  of  countenance. 

The  couple  took  a  step  or  two  into  the  comparative  dark- 
ness of  the  alley,  where  the  young  woman  lifted  her  veil 
and  raised  her  cheek  for  what  was  evidently  a  farewell  kiss. 
When  they  again  emerged  into  the  light,  her  companion 
hailed  a  hansom,  in  which  he  proceeded  to  install  her,  closed 
the  doors  without  getting  in,  and  called  out  to  the  driver 
some  address  which  had  no  meaning  in  Lewis'  ear.  But  as 
the  hansom  swung  round,  and  its  occupant,  bending  forward, 
sent  another  kiss  from  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  the  stationary 
figure  of  his  friend,  the  young  man  caught  a  fair  view  of 
her  unveiled  face  for  the  first  time.  He  started  violently. 
It  was  not  imagination — features,  smile,  look,  the  wave  of  the 
hand  itself,  the  little  toss  of  her  head,  ay,  the  very  voice,  now 
crying  out,  "Good-night,  good-by" — it  was  Maude!    And  yet 


86  Midnight  Confidences. 

not  Maude — another  glance  at  the  handsome  creature,  whom, 
during  a  short  pause,  occasioned  by  the  block  of  vehicles,  he 
had  time  to  examine  more  critically  under  the  crude  electric 
light,  was  sufficient  to  prove  the  I'oily  of  his  first  impulse,  al- 
though the  marvelous  resemblance  increased  rather  than 
diminished  on  scrutiny. 

As  he  gazed  after  the  retreating  hansom  conflicting 
thoughts  rushed  wildly  through  his  brain.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  this  ?  Maude,  the  refined  maiden,  isolated  in  her 
romantic  home,  and  this  very  independent  young  woman,  so 
indescribably  not  a  lady,  who  composedly  drove  away  alone 
in  a  hansom  at  midnight  ? 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  likeness,  of  course,  I  should  not 
bother  my  head  about  it,"  he  thought,  looking  toward  his 
cousin,  who  still  stood  in  the  same  place.  "I  don't  want  to 
pry  into  his  private  life;  I  dare  say  he  is  no  better  or  no 
worse  than  other  men.  If  it  were  not  that  he  knew  Maude  so 
well,  I  should  be  tempted  to  think  it  was  a  mere  coincidence; 
there  must  be  something  beneath  it,"  and  through  the  con- 
fusion of  his  ideas  there  suddenly  broke  the  memory  of  a 
certain  night,  years  ago  now,  when  his  friend  had  spoken 
strange  words  to  him,  conveying  nothing  to  his  loyal  mind; 
unheeded,  then,  but  which  now,  in  the  light  of  this  meeting, 
returned  upon  him  pregnant  with  baleful  meaning. 

Could  it  be  that  Charles,  too,  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Maude?  could  it  be  that,  loving  her  hopelessly,  he  consoled 
himself  thus — his  friend,  whom  he  had  set  on  so  high  a 
pedestal ! 

"I  will  not  judge  till  I  hear  his  story,"  and,  resolutely 
emerging  from  his  concealment,  he  sprang  up  to  the  object 
of  his  thoughts. 

"Why,  Charlie!  what  can  a  man  of  your  serious  turn  be 
doing  at  such  a  time  in  the  neighborhood  of  these  haunts? 
Anyhow,  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  old  man!" 

"Hallo,  Lewis!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hillyard,  drawing  back  a 
pace,  with  a  perceptible  start.  But  the  discomposure  was  too 
transient  to  attract  his  companion's  notice;  in  another  in- 
stant their  hands  were  warmly  clasped,  and,  surveying  his 
quondam  pupil  from  head  to  foot: 

"So  you  are  still  in  the  land  of  the  living!"  cried  the 
"coach."  "The  last  I  heard  you  were  skirmishing  with  Af- 
ghans." 

"I  am,  as  you  see,  glad  to  be  of  this  world  still,  especially 
at  a  meeting  like  this.  You  did  not  get  my  letter,  then  ?  '  I 
sent  it  to  Cambridge.     How  is  the  world  behaving  to  you  ?" 

"Much  as  before;  you  need  not  have  expressed  so  much 
suprise  at  meeting  me  here.    I  came  up  for  some  tiresome 


Midnight  Confidences.  87 

business  connected  with  the  'Philosophical/  and  afterward 
felt  the  want  of  something  nice  and  idiotic  to  vary  the  enter- 
tainment and  sweep  the  cobwebs  from  my  brain." 

Lewis  evinced  no  sort  of  consciousness  under  his  friend's 
scrutiny,  and  the  latter  proceeded  more  easily : 

"And  so  here  you  are  again.  I  think  I  can  guess  what  has 
brought  you  back." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  What  should  have  brought  me  back 
but  my  first  long  leave?" 

"Indeed!  nothing  else?"  then,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
in  a  careless  tone,  "In  that  case  I  think  I  may  have  news 
for  you.  It  is  not  really  pressing,  I  assure  you.  Where  are 
you  staying?  I  am  meditating  supper  before  catching  my 
train  at  Euston — will  you  come  with  me?" 

"I  am  at  my  old  rooms  at  Staple's,  of  course.  They  are 
close  by;  why  shouldn't  you  come  to  me?  And,  I  say,  now 
I  have  found  you,  I  am  not  inclined  to  let  you  go  in  such  a 
hurry;  if  you  don't  disdain  an  improvised  couch,  I  caji 
accommodate  you  with  lodgings  as  well  as  board." 

"That  sounds  plausible,"  said  Charles ;  "done." 

At  a  pleasant  pace,  in  keeping  with  the  warmth  of  the  July 
night,  they  soon  exchanged  the  bustle  and  glare  of  Holborn 
for  the  quiet  courts  of  the  old  Inn. 

Ascending  the  rickety  corkscrew  stairs  they  entered  the 
attic  room. 

After  feeling  for  matches  and  lighting  his  lamp,  the  host 
relieved  his  guest  of  hat  and  stick,  and,  i)erceiving  sundry 
letters  and  papers  strewing  the  floor  beneath  his  open  letter- 
box, picked  them  up  and  turned  them  over  in  some  surprise. 

"Hullo !  who  the  dickens  has  sent  me  a  Morning  Post, 
I'm  sure  I  never  ordered  one;  some  way  of  advertising,  I  sup- 
pose. What  are  these?  Circulars,  circulars,  price-lists — 
rubbish !" 

And,  tossing  the  collection  on  to  a  side  table,  he  turned 
gayly  to  his  friend : 

"Now,  Sir  Cavalier,  make  yourself  at  home  while  I  get 
supper  ready." 

"So  you  have  kept  up  this  den  of  yours.  What  on  earth 
could  induce  any  one  in  your  circumstances  to  fix  upon  a 
ramshackle  Inn  like  this,  when  there  are  chambers  to  be  had 
in  St.  James'  and  other  civilized  parts,  I  cannot  conceive." 

"Without  noticing  your  disparagement  of  my  residence," 
said  Lewis  good-humoredly,  "I  may  point  out  that  under 
present  circumstances  it  would  be  absurd  for  me  to  keep  up 
an  expensive  establishment  I  should  only  live  in  for  very  few 
days  at  a  time.  Furthermore,  were  I  ten  times  a  millionaire,  I 
would  not  give  up  this  haunt  of  mine  for  anything,  'leather  and 


88  Midnight  Confidences. 

iron  dragoon'  though  I  be.  And  lastly,"  he  went  on,  as  he 
selected  some  special  wine-glasses  from  a  cupboard,  "the 
ownership  of  these  rooms  at  the  time  when  I  threw  in  my 
lot  with  'Tommy  Atkins'  bridged  over  the  difficulty  of  storing 
away  all  my  books,  old  oak,  old  arms — all  the  'kickshaws'  you 
used  to  scoff  at,  in  fact,  you  Philistine !" 

"I  should  have  thought  club  chambers  for  yourself  when 
you  came  up,  more  rational,  but  you  were  always  a  little 
cracked,  you  know;  and  I  see  that  you  have  not  changed." 

"I'm  glad  I  have  not,"  returned  Lewis  simply. 

"It's  very  pretty,"  continued  the  other,  looking  about  him 
critically,  "but  it  must  be  extremely  uncomfortable." 

"Geometry  doesn't  infest  my  life,"  said  Lewis,  dragging 
forward  to  the  table  a  three-legged  stool  for  himself,  and  a 
four-legged  one  for  his  guest ;  "and  as  for  solidity,  the  Chest- 
nut battery  itself  galloping  past  in  Holborn  would  not  so 
much  as  shake  my  old  panels.  .  .  .  But  come,  you  don't 
seem  to  be  in  a  sympathetic  mood ;  sit  down.  But  never  fear, 
I  will  pour  no  inferior  stuff  in  your  cup  to-night.  Now,  let 
us  see.  Turn  about  and  look  into  my  cellar.  Choose  your 
tap;  I  have  still  some  of  those  choice  friends  you  made  ac- 
quaintance with  up  at  Trinity — ^like  us  both,  a  few  years 
older;  and  the  better  for  it,  I  hope,  old  man." 

Carefully  fitting  a  ponderous  black  key  into  the  lock  of  the 
seventeenth-century  coffer  under  his  window,  he  lifted  the 
lid,  and,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  merry  brown  eyes,  beckoned  to 
his  friend. 

"Here  you  see,  on  the  right,  some  of  the  richest  juice  the 
sun  distils  from  Burgundian  hillsides.  Now  choose  your 
particular  'wanity,' "  Lewis  concluded  with  a  laugh,  suddenly 
changing  his  style. 

"Pour  me  out  some  of  your  'aurum  potabile,'  since  caviare 
is  to  be  the  first  thing,"  said  Charles,  with  his  slightly  con- 
temptuous smile,  sitting  down,  notwithstanding,  readily 
enough,  and  helping  himself  to  the  toothsome  conserve. 

Charles,  on  his  side,  took  up  his  glass  and  closed  his  eyes 
with  mock  solemnity  as  he  swallowed  the  contents. 

"Ah!  what  a  fine  thing  it  must  be  to  be  able  to  gratify 
one's  epicurean  tastes!  I  never  was  over-wealthy,  as  you 
know,  but  since  my  poor  governor's  death,  which  you  heard 
of  when  you  were  out  in  India,  I  have  had  to  rely  entirely 
on  my  own  exertions." 

Lewis  was  the  last  person  who  could  resist  him  under  such 
circumstances;  with  a  warm  revulsion  of  feeling  he  rejoiced 
to  find  himself  falling  once  more  under  the  old  spell. 

When  at  length  they  had  done  full  justice  to  the  im- 
provised meal,  the  dragoon  sprang  to  his  feet,  and,  for  th^ 


Midnight  Confidences.  89 

sake  of  greater  stretching  room,  pushed  the  little  dining- 
table  away  into  the  pantry,  ensconced  his  friend  in  the  arm- 
chair, chose  his  best  cigar  for  him,  and  filled  a  favorite  pipe 
for  himself  with  a  lightening  heart. 

"Now,  Charlie,"  he  remarked  cheerily,  dropping  on  the 
stool  in  front  of  him,  and  stretching  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
"this  is  indeed  like  old  times,  isn't  it  ?  What  a  piece  of  luck 
to  meet  you  to-night!  Do  you  remember  how  you  used  to 
lecture  me,  extra  horas,  on  the  necessity  of  seeing  the  world 
and  giving  up  my  silly  habit  of  day-dreaming?" 

"I  do ;  and  now  that  you  have  knocked  about  a  little  more, 
you  have  no  doubt  learned  to  look  at  life  from  a  more  practi- 
cal point  of  view." 

"Perhaps  I  have,  in  certain  things.  But  let  us  hear  more 
about  yourself." 

"About  myself  I  have  little  to  say;  my  life  is  quite  as 
monotonous  as  it  was." 

"Indeed!"  said  Lewis,  hesitating  for  a  moment  to  go  on 
with  what  he  had  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue,  for  fear,  by  enter- 
ing on  delicate  ground,  of  bringing  about  an  unpleasant  ten- 
sion. But  until  he  had  cleared  up  what  was  on  his  mind,  he 
felt  he  could  not  remain  at  ease  with  his  friend,  and  he  was 
longing  to  have  things  straight  between  them  again ;  to  sweep 
away  the  barriers  that  seemed  to  have  risen  in  his  absence  to 
mar  their  sympathy.  "Do  you  remember,"  he  began  slowly, 
as  if  choosing  his  words,  "a  certain  sultry  evening,  a  little 
before  the  final,  up  at  Trinity?  I  had  that  day  announced 
my  intention  to  enfer  the  service,  and  came  to  your  room  just 
as  one  of  your  new  pups  was  about  to  leave  you — Wagner- 
like — in  Dr.  Faustus'  den,  full  of  awe  for  your  severe  wis- 
dom. I,  however,  who  knew  your  private  self  intimately, 
found  you  in  an  unwontedly  soft  and  melancholy  mood.  Do 
you  remember  that  evening?" 

Charles  turned  his  head  rather  suddenly,  and  looked  keen- 
ly at  the  speaker. 

"Yes^I  think  I  do;  well?" 

"We  drifted  into  poetry,  music,  romance,  not  to  say  senti- 
ment.    I  believe  you  actually  quoted  Heine." 

"Quite  a  graphic  picture!     Well?" 

"You  who  never  spoke  of  your  own  inner  thoughts,  so  that 
I  believed  you  really  were  blessed  with  an  adamantine  in- 
diiference  to  sentiment,  for  once  you  unbosomed  yourself 
and  told  me  that  you  were  in  love." 

An  indefinable  smile  curled  Charlie's  thin  lips;  he  turned 
half  round  on  his  chair  and  looked  straight  at  his  friend. 

"Your  story  interests  me  much.  Proceed,"  he  said  mock- 
ingly. 


90  Midnight  Confidences. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Lewis,  doggedly  bent  upon 
satisfying  himself,  resumed  with  an  effort: 

"Well,  we  found  out  that  the  music  told  us  the  same 
thing;  I  wondered  who  was  the  lady  of  your  hopeless  dreams 
— for  you  spoke  of  them  as  hopeless — don't  bliish;  who  could 
resist  you?" 

"I  think  I  see  now  what  you  are  aiming  at ;  but  still,  go  on." 

"You  spoke  again  out  of  yoiu*  dark  corner  where  your  piano 
was  stowed  away — your  words  were  so  unlike  what  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  hear  from  you.  'I  sometimes  wish,'  you  said,  *I  had 
never  had  music  instilled  in  my  soul.  When  I  hear  melodies 
like  this,  with  all  their  yearnings,  it  sets  me  mad  for  the  unat- 
tainable; in  fact,  old  fellow,  it  plays  the  devil  with  my  com- 
mon-sense.' Unfortunately,  just  as  I  was  worked  up  to  an 
intense  state  of  sympathy  for  you,  in  came  your  gyp  with 
your  lamps,  and  the  whole  scene  underwent  a  complete  trans- 
formation. 'Pray  don't  imagine,  my  boy,'  you  then  said,  'that 
I  am  a  soft  idealist,  a  gentle  lunatic  like  you.  I  have  been 
hard  hit,  I  grant  you  that;  but  as  the  soothing  dock  grows 
near  the  stinging  nettle,  I  trust  I  have  found  my  antidote  to 
hand.'  And  you  suggested  the  case  of  a  man  who  should 
come  across  a  woman  the  very  image,  the  'double,'  of  her 
who  had  ensnared  him.  'Now,  your  idealist,'  said  you,  'would 
go  moping  about  forever  for  tiie  want  of  his  particular  bunch 
of  grapes,  but  your  sensible  man  takes  the  one  that  is  with- 
in his  reach,  and  is  thankful.'  I  never  dreamed  you  were 
really  speaking  of  your  own  experience — never  dreamed  that 
so  extraordinary  a  coincidence  had  come  your  way,  nor  that 
you  and  I,  sympathetic  though  we  were,  had  the  misf  ortime  to 
fall  in  love  with  the  same  girl — ^until  to-night!" 

Charlie  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  knocking  the  long 
ash  off  his  cigar  with  his  little  finger. 

"Ah !  so  you  did  see  her,  then.  Well,  I  confess  that  you  are 
about  the  last  person  I  could  have  wished  to  meet  me  with 
that  girl.  London  is  large  enough  to  justify  me  in  hoping 
that  none  of  my  acquaintances,  let  alone  my  intimates,  would 
run  across  me  under  the  circumstances.  However,  a  total 
absence  of  coincidences  in  this  haphazard  world  would,  after 
all,  be  stranger  than  the  least  likely  of  accidents." 

It  was  indeed  typical  of  the  man  how  soon  the  erstwhile 
coach  managed  to  resume  the  tone  of  ascendancy. 

"The  little  I  told  you,"  he  went  on,  "the  shadowy  suggestion 
I  then  threw  out,  encompassed  the  broad  facts.  It  was  sim- 
ply an  astonishingly  complete  instance  of  personal  likeness; 
but  you  were  able  to-night  to  judge  for  yourself  of  what  my 
feelings  must  have  been,  jny  mind  being  filled  with  on6  pw> 


Midnight  Confidences.  Oi 

ticular  image,  when  I  first  came  across  the  girl  you  saw  me 
with  an  hour  ago." 

Charles  mused  a  while,  to  resume  reflection : 

"When  I  saw  Maude  Woldham,  after  a  long  interval,  she 
had  grown  from  a  little  girl  into  the  handsome  woman  who 
has  turned  many  heads  since  she  bewitched  you.  I  must  say 
that,  for  the  first  time,  I  understood  the  general  infatuation, 
and  felt  alarmed  to  find  myself  falling  in  the  same  way.  I 
realized  one  day  that  as  long  as  I  remained  within  the  reach 
of  her  influence  I  should  do  no  good.  I  went  away;  but 
somehow  or  other  I  could  not  shake  off  the  impression  after 
all,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  hardest  work.  And,  with  that 
decision,  which  you  are,  I  believe,  pleased  to  admire  in  me,  I 
resolved  never  to  return  to  Gilham  more.  That  summer, 
therefore,  I  spent  my  vacation  on  a  boating  trip  from  Oxford 
to  Maidenhead.  Well,  here  is  the  story :  One  hot  afternoon  I 
was  silently  sailing  past  those  meadows  below  Cookham.  On 
the  bank,  within  four  yards  of  me,  I  suddenly  saw  her,  as  I 
thought — there  she  was,  fast  asleep  among  the  buttercups,  in 
the  shelter  of  the  hedge.  At  the  moment  I  thought  it  was  an 
hallucination.  I  let  my  craft  run  aground,  and  the  grating  of 
the  keel  awoke  the  vision,  who  started  up  and  looked  at  me, 
blushing  like  a  poppy.  Then  my  sail  entangled  itself  in  some 
overhanging  bough  of  the  hedge,  and  the  stream  turned  my 
boat  round,  so  that  I  had  to  land.  She  was  lovely — you  have 
seen  her,  and  know  the  original — and  I  must  suppose  my  mid- 
smnmer  madness  was  contagious.  The  accident  sufficed  for  an 
introduction,  and  that  meeting  by  the  water's  edge  was  the 
turning  point  of  two  lives." 

"By  all  that  is  absurd,  you  have  not  gone  and  married  her  ?" 
cried  Lewis. 

"No ;  but  it  is  nearly  as  bad,"  returned  Charles,  with  a  kind 
of  sneer ;  "instead  of  letting  that  curious  experience  remain  an 
idyl,  I  allowed  it  to  form  the  first  canto  of  a  long  history,  yet 
to  be  concluded.  Yes,  the  day  is  evidently  past  when  I  could 
lecture  you  on  the  subject  of  foolishness.  I  willfully  entangle 
myself  in  the  new  meshes.  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  all  is 
that  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to  give  up  that  easy 
prize.  Haunted  as  I  was  by  what  I  thought  an  impossible 
phantasy,  I  hankered  for  its  commonplace,  but  palpable,  image 
whose  love  had  not  cost  me  even  an  effort  to  win." 

"A  pretty  kettle  of  fish!"  ejaculated  Lewis,  "And  who  is 
she?" 

"The  daughter  of  a  comfortable  hotel-keeper  somewhere  up 
the  river,  and  who,  by  the  way,  is  apparently  not  at  all  recon- 
ciled to  the  present  state  of  affairs.  Pretty  for  a  college 
Don!" 


gz  Midnight  Confidences. 

"And  how  on  earth  can  you  ever  get  rid  of  this  poor  girl 
now?" 

"I  hold  it  a  wise  axiom  that  says,  *As  you  make  your  bed,  so 
you  lie.'  As  it  is,  well,  it  is  not  so  bad.  She  is  the  handsomest 
creature  I  know,  one  excepted,  and  devoted  to  me.  When  I 
come  down  every  week,  tired  out,  I  find  a  cheerful  companion, 
with  no  too  exalted  ideas  to  fret  herself  or  me.  There  are  un- 
deniable advantages  in  such  a  state  of  things.  She  is  perfectly 
satisfied  with  matters  as  they  are.  Since  I  have  chosen  the 
path,  I  make  the  most  of  my  journey." 

Lewis  did  not  answer.  He  was  certainly  no  precision  in 
matters  of  morality,  but  there  was  unmistakable  disenchant- 
ment in  finding  the  friend  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  looking 
iip  to  as  the  archtype  of  intellectual  refinement  so  cynical  in 
acknowledging  a  commonplace  intrigue. 

For  a  long  time  the  pair  remained  in  reflective  silence. 

Had  Asmodeus,  the  Bottle  Imp,  been  liberated  in  London 
by  some  modern  Don  Cleofas,  and  alighted  with  him  during 
his  discreet  explorations  on  the  roof  of  old  Staples  Inn 
that  night,  he  might  have  thought  it  curious  to  bid  his 
companion  look  into  the  attic  room,  while,  for  his  benefit,  he 
read  the  inner  thoughts  of  the  two  men  who  alone  were  still 
awake  at  that  late  hour. 

"That  slim,  graceful  figure  you  see  there,  lying  his  lazy 
length  in  the  armchair,  the  pale,  romantic  beauty  of  whose 
face  would  seem  lit  as  by  an  intense  inner  life,  is  at  this  mo- 
ment brooding  over  some  secret  temptation.  I  can  not  tell 
you,  Don  Cleofas,  what  his  plans  are,  for  they  are  only  half 
formed,  and  I  can  read  but  what  is ;  but  his  thoughts  are  full 
of  doubt  and  desire. 

"As  for  the  other,  with  the  close-cropped  brown  head  and 
the  unromantic  breadth  of  shoulder,  who  is  squatting  on  his 
three-legged  stool,  with  a  short  pipe  hanging  under  his  thick, 
bristly  mustache,  and  with  his  round  eyes  staring  abstractedly 
at  his  lamp,  he  is  back  again  to  memories,  and  far  away  from' 
here.  A  winter  scene  in  a  Yorkshire  glen,  under  a  dark  gray 
sky;  a  small  lake,  imprisoned  below  smooth,  black  ice,  sur- 
rounded by  silent  pines,  asleep  and  solemn  under  masses  of 
hoar-frost.  A  slender  girl,  freshly  blossomed  into  maidenhood, 
whose  black  velvet  skirts,  heavily  furred,  are  swaying  rhyth- 
mically to  and  fro,  revealing  the  daintiest  foot  as  she  skates 
in  long,  entrancing  sweeps  beside  him,  her  little  hands  im- 
prisoned in  his,  while  some  rebellious  locks  of  brown  hair, 
escaping  from  her  fur  cap,  flutter  ever  and  anon  across  his 
face.  Now  she  stops,  panting  and  tired,  and  the  breath  from 
her  parted  lips  condenses  in  iridescent  beads  on  her  long  eye- 


Midniglit  Confidences.  93 

lashes.  How  he  loves  her — loves  her  very  shadow !  Can  she 
hear  the  sweet  accompaniment  playing  in  his  heart  to  his  occa- 
sional impersonal  remarks?  'How  grand  that  slaty  sky!  and 
that  mysterious,  silent  wood,  under  the  dazzling  hoar !  Do  you 
not  like  to  hear  those  crows  calling  to  each  other  the  news 
from  distant  parts?'  Witch  as  she  is,  fairy-like,  surely  she 
hears  his  meaning  rightly.  *How  beautiful  is  the  place  where 
you  are,  for  I  love  you!  Were  you  away,  how  desolate,  de- 
spairing this  snow-laden  sky,  what  a  dirge  of  misery  those 
calls !'  Would  you  hear  more,  Don  Cleof as,  of  the  youth's 
love-sick  fancies,  or  shall  we  flit  further  ?" 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  something  about  Maude  herself?" 
suddenly  asked  Lewis,  starting  from  his  abstraction. 

"About  Maude  Woldham  ?  What  can  I  tell  you  about  her  ? 
That  she  is  still  Maude  Woldham,  you  know  yourself,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  But  where  is  she  ?  What  has  she  been 
about  all  these  years?  Or  are  you  ashamed  to  talk  of  her?" 
cried  his  companion,  rather  petulantly. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  fellow.  She  is  now,  I  think,  at  Hom- 
burg,  combining  fashionable  amusement  with  a  cure  for  her 
aunt's  nerves.  As  to  her  doings  in  general,  what  can  I  tell 
you  but  that  she  has  gone  through  the  usual  mill  of  girls 
after  they  are  brought  to  town  to  be  presented  ?  Half  a  dozen 
proposals,  it  appears.  The  legend  is,  that  she  does  not  want 
to  marry,  on  account  of  her  old  father.  My  opinion,  how- 
ever, is  that  the  right  man  has  not  yet  come  forward." 

Charles  noted  with  a  smile  the  effect  of  his  last  remark. 

"I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  have  not  been  cured.  Is  it  pos- 
sible you  are  still  reckoning  on  a  similar  state  of  mind  in 
her?" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  believe  it  is  openly  admitted  that  the  girl  was  fond  of 
you,  as  the  saying  goes.  But  even  if  she  were  still  the 
same " 

"Oh,  I  know  your  cynical  talk  about  the  folly  of  marriage." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  preach  wisdom  now,  after  the 
confession  which  accident  has  forced  from  me.  To  cure  this 
monomania  of  sentiment,  since  more  radical  remedies  are  not 
available,  I  should  prescribe  a  little  everyday,  dragoon-like  dis- 
sipation.   I  think  it  would  prove  invaluable  in  your  case." 

"Oh,  master !"  interrupted  Lewis,  with  a  forced  laugh ;  "you 
are  skilled  in  disputation  on  moral  sciences,  but  I  fear  your 
utilitarianism  obscures  your  appreciation  of  morals  in  life !" 

"I  am  talking  sense.  But  there  is  something  better  still, 
when  a  man  is  as  moonstruck  as  you  seem  to  be;  namely,  to 
seek  a  cure  in  alternatives,  counter-irritants." 


94  Midniglit  Con^dences. 

"'In  the  company  of  some  confiding  inn-keeper's  daughter,  1 
presume  ?"  put  in  Lewis,  now  thoroughly  vexed. 

"I  own  you  have  an  argumentative  weapon  against  me." 
Then,  abruptly  changing  the  subject :  "Now/'  he  said,  "about 
the  news  I  had  for  you.  It  is  really  a  fact  that  your  return 
is  a  simple  coincidence,  or  have  you  heard  about  the  Gilham 
affairs?" 

"No ;  what  about  Gilham  ?"  asked  Lewis,  his  mind  still  run- 
ning on  ruffled  thoughts. 

"Why,  this  simply,"  said  Charlie.  "In  March  last  Guy,  the 
youngest,  you  know,  who  was  wounded  in  South  Africa,  died 
on  his  way  home.  You  laiow  that,  of  course  ?  Well,  about  a 
week  ago  the  news  arrived  that  Bob,  the  eldest,  who  was  yacht- 
ing with  a  friend  in  the  Pacific  somewhere,  had  a  sunstroke, 
and  died  in  two  days.  But  when  I  asked  what  had  brought  you 
back,  I  thought  you  might  have  heard  of  it  yourself.  Now,  do 
you  begin  to  understand?" 

"Great  God !"  cried  Lewis,  who,  with  undefined  insight  into 
vast  possibilities,  sprang  from  his  seat  in  great  agitation. 

"That  is  not  all.  By  the  by,  where  is  that  Post?"  Charles 
stepped  across  the  room  and  took  up  the  paper,  which 
he  unfolded.  "Hallo !"  he  cried,  in  astonishment ;  "why,  here 
is  the  very  thing  itself  marked  out  for  you,  and  in  red  ink. 
Who  could  have  sent  it  ?" 

Lewis  eagerly  seized  the  newspaper,  and,  with  knitted  brow, 
sought  for  the  marked  paragraph : 

"On  the  16th  inst.,  at  Gilham  Court,  Yorks,  suddenly,  Wil- 
liam Kerr,  Esq.,  D.  L.,  J.  P.,  aged  sixty-three." 

"On  the  1st  of  June,  on  board  the  yacht  Daphne,  Robert 
William  Kerr,  eldest  and  only  surviving  son  of  the  above, 
from  the  effects  of  sunstroke,  aged  thirty-two." 

Lewis  looketl  up  with  wondering  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hillyard,  in  answer  to  the  look;  "the  old 
man  himself  had  a  fit  on  hearing  the  news,  and  is  now  lying 
dead  in  his  bed  at  Gilham.  Now,  you  know  the  tenure  of  the 
estate,  no  doubt.    This  is  the  news  I  had  to  give  you." 

Lewis  stood  staring  at  his  friend.  The  latter  examined  him 
anew  with  a  strange  smile. 

"This  is  a  kind  of  clearance  which  it  would  hardly  do  to  con- 
template, as  a  rule,"  he  went  on,  dryly;  "and  yet  how  easily  it 
could  have  extended  even  further — had  your  sturdy  figure,  for 
instance,  intercepted  a  Boerish  bullet." 

Lewis  did  not  grasp  the  meaning  in  the  midst  of  his  giddi- 
ness; he  was  only  beginning  to  realize  all  the  news  meant  for 
him:  "Lewis  Kerr  of  Gilham,"  a  fortune,  one  of  the  finest 
estates  in  the  Riding;  and  then  the  old  refrain  came  once 


Midnight  Confidences.  95 

more  to  the  fore.  Why,  Maude  could  be  mistress  of  Gilham ! 
What  a  prospect  open  to  a  simple  subaltern ! 

While  the  young  man  thus  lost  himself,  Charles,  taking 
the  paper,  examined  it  wistfully,  wondering  whether  there 
was  more  to  be  seen  in  that  unsolicited  information. 

"Have  you  any  idea "  he  began,  looking  up  from  the 

■  print.    But  Lewis  suddenly  grasped  his  hand. 

"And  you,  too,"  he  cried,  in  an  altered  voice — "you,  the 
only  one  of  the  family  who  has  been  good  to  me — wherever 
my  home  is,  yours  must  be,  too,  whenever  you  like  to  make 
it  so.  Ah,  no!  poor  old  chap,  you  can't!"  He  already  saw 
Maude  by  his  side,  mistress  of  his  house.  "But,  never  mind, 
3'ou  shall  have  a  share  in  this  stroke  of  luck,  all  the  same." 

"Stroke  of  luck!"  laughed  Charles,  as  he  threw  the  paper 
aside.  "Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  this  decimation  of 
your  kindred  ?" 

"Oh,  why  pretend?  They  all  hated  me.  The  only  inter- 
course I  ever  had  with  any  of  them,  but  your  own  family, 
was  of  the  angry  kind." 

Charles  remained  a  moment  lost  in  thought. 

"I  suppose  you  are  not  thinking  of  going  North  with  me — 
for  it  was  Gilham,  not  Cambridge,  I  was  bound  for — and  in- 
tended to  do  so  when  I  met  you." 

"What  do  you  think?"  pondered  Lewis;  "I  ought  to  go, 
ought  If  not  ?  Heaven  knov/s  I  would  willingly  pay  the  poor 
old  man  the  last  respects.  I  can  bear  him  no  grudge  now 
for  all  his  discourtesy  (to  call  it  by  no  harder  name)  to  me." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Do  you  not  think  it  might  look 
rather  curious  under  the  circumstances;  as  if  you  lost  no 
time  to  assert  your  position?  However,  in  this  matter  you 
must  use  your  own  judgment." 

"Oh !  if  you  think  that,  of  course,  I  should  not  dream  of  it. 
I  rather  want  to  be  free  just  now,  too." 

"Of  course,  I  must  go.  My  sisters  and  I  are  his  nearest 
relatives — after  you;  moreover,  the  old  man  has  been  rather 
good  to  me.  And  it  is  time  I  took  some  rest,  and  I  shall  ask 
you  for  that  promised  couch.  You  must  be  anxious,  at  least, 
to  ruminate  over  your  new  prospects." 

In  his  present  state,  Lewis  was  glad  enough  to  exert  him- 
self in  mechanical  labor,  and,  entering  the  adjoining  room, 
he  became  very  busy  in  converting  that  cunning  article  of 
furniture  known  as  a  settee  bedstead  into  a  bed  for  his 
friend. 

"There,  I  hope,"  he  remarked,  as  he  finally  turned  down 
the  cool  sheets  with  the  neatness  he  put  into  everything, 
"you  v/lil  find  the  needful  rest.  As  for  myself,  I  prefer  this." 
And  he  proceeded  to  unroll  a  wide  canvas  hammock,  which 


96  Midnight  Confidences. 

he  hooked  diagonally  across  a  corner  of  his  small  third  apart- 
ment, and  arranged  in  it  one  of  the  pillows  of  the  settee  and 
covered  it  with  a  rug. 

"Now  we  are  taut  for  the  night !" 

"So  you  sleep  in  a  hammock  in  the  heart  of  London  1  you 
lunatic  you,"  laughed  Charles. 

"Judge  not  without  experience,"  returned  the  host.  "A 
good  hammock  is  a  very  nest  for  unfeathered  bipeds." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  get  into  it?"  said  the  other,  as  his 
friend  prepared  to  leave  the  room. 

"Oh,  I  could  not  sleep!  I  must  go  out  and  walk  a  while 
and  have  a  good  think.  Have  you  all  you  want?  Yes? 
Well,  I  shall  not  wake  you  when  I  come  in." 

For  a  long  while,  however,  Charles  heard  his  steps  through 
the  open  window  on  the  flagstones,  diminishing  in  the  dis- 
tance and  returning  regularly.  Dawn  had  made  way  for 
sunlight,  and  the  busy  hum  of  the  thoroughfare  was  rising 
up  to  the  dormer  windows  before  the  noctambulist  returned 
to  his  suspended  couch. 

He  stopped  a  moment  to  gaze  at  his  friend,  who,  though 
still  awake,  was  feigning  sleep.  Then  he  proceeded  to  en- 
sconse  himself  in  his  paragon  hammock,  to  which  he  im- 
parted for  some  time  a  soothing  oscillatory  motion.  To 
neither  of  them  did  restful  sleep  pay  a  visit,  for  all  their  eyes 
were  closed.  But  the  thoughts  and  schemes  that  were  re- 
volving on  the  pillow  of  the  couch  would  no  doubt  have 
jarred  considerably  with  the  equally  fleeting  but  more  har- 
monious plans  and  hopes  which  succeeded  each  other  as  dis- 
solving views  in  the  hammock.  Both  hailed  the  time  for 
rising,  with  pleasure. 

After  attending  to  his  friend's  comforts  and  seeing  him 
off,  Lewis  returned  to  his  room  with  a  sense  of  relief  at  being 
alone,  and  fell  into  a  deep  reverie. 

The  meeting  with  his  old  chum,  so  long  looked  forward 
to,  had  proved  in  some  occult  manner  thoroughly  disappoint- 
ing. Had  it  not  been  that  the  new  "squire's"  head  was  so 
filled  with  the  strangeness  of  his  imexpected  position,  he 
would  have  been  much  troubled.  As  it  was,  however,  he 
could  think  of  nothing  but  Maude. 

In  two  days,  perhaps,  he  would  again  hold  that  little  hand 
in  his,  look  into  the  depths  of  those  wondrous  blue-gray  eyes ; 
at  length  pour  into  her  woman's  ear  the  endless  tale  of  that 
love  she,  as  a  little  maid,  had  tacitly  accepted. 

Visions  of  youthful  love — only  the  few  who  have  not  early 
squandered  the  freshness  of  life  can  realize  their  glory! 

The  fever  of  departure  seized  him.  He  again  packed  some 
of  the  luggage  he  had  so  carefully  unpacked  the  day  before, 


"  Qui  Part  Trop  Tot  Rivient  Trop  Tard."    97 

sat  down  to  write  sundry  directions  to  the  family  solicitor 
and  give  his  address  as  Homburg,  Poste  Restante;  dragged 
his  portmanteau  down-stairs  himself,  and,  after  hasty  in- 
junctions to  the  astoTiished  porter,  jiimped.  into  the  first  han- 
som that  passed  before  the  gates.  Not  an  hour  later  he  was 
steaming  away  from  the  turmoil  of  London,  in  search  of  the 
lady  of  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
"qui  part  trop  tot  revient  trop  tard." 

On  his  arrival  at  Homburg,  thirty  hours  later,  Levsds,  after 
a  hasty  toilet,  sallied  forth  into  the  sunshine  of  the  little 
town.  He  did  not  wish  to  seek  Maude  at  once;  he  felt  too 
much  like  a  man  in  a  dream,  too  confused  after  these  long 
hours  of  ceaseless  thinking,  to  venture  entering  at  once  into 
her  presence. 

Dreamily,  he  turned  his  steps  toward  the  Kursaal  Gar- 
dens, whither  all  Homburg  goes  to  listen  to  music.  The 
sky  was  tremulous  with  the  light  of  the  August  sun;  but 
there  was  a  sort  of  sparkle  in  the  air  which  redeemed  it  from 
oppressive  heat.  The  band  was  playing  a  swinging  waltz  tune 
as  he  came  up  under  the  shade  of  the  linden  trees,  and  took 
a  seat  in  the  most  secluded  corner  within  view  of  the  prom- 
enade and  its  moving  stream  of  young  faces,  fluttering  mus- 
lins and  gay  colors.  In  some  strange  way,  the  merriment  had 
an  instaneously  depressing  effect  upon  him.  His  heart  sank 
like  lead  as  he  gazed  from  face  to  face.  Oh,  for  the  wide 
horizon,  the  green,  still  fields  of  Woldham ! 

And  then  the  troubled  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  Not  ten 
paces  away,  her  delicate  head  dominating  the  crowd  of 
smaller  womankind,  was  she — Maude,  his  love! 

She  was  advancing  with  that  free,  well-poised  gait  he  re- 
membered so  well.  Under  the  shade  of  a  wide  straw  hat  the 
pure  oval  of  her  face  shone  out  a  little  palely,  yet  "divinely 
fair."  She  came  past,  and  the  rays  of  her  blue  eyes  illumined 
the  shady  corner  as  she  glaivf^ed  in  his  direction.  She  did 
not  recognize  him.  How  could  she?  he  asked  himself,  to 
stifle  the  unreasonable  pang  that  sprang  into  life  under  the 
gentle  indifference  of  her  look. 

He  would  have  known  her  anywhere;  and  yet  how  different  I 
The  full-grown  woman,  in  the  warm  richness  of  her  young 
and  powerful  life,  in  delicate  loveliness  of  feature,  was  not 
the  thin  and  girlish  being  of  his  memories.     And  yet  the 


98   "  Qui  Part  Trop  Tot  Rivient  Trop  Tard." 

face  bore  the  old  look.  Thank  heaven  I  She  was  his  Maude 
still. 

A  little  disdainful,  she  moved  through  the  throng,  suiting 
her  pace  to  the  slow  gait  of  the  feeble  woman  who  leaned  on 
her  strong  young  arm.  A  heaven-blue  Uhlan  and  a  pink- 
cheeked  boy,  English,  every  inch  of  him,  were  pressing  after 
her.  The  attention  she  vouchsafed  them  was  so  detached 
and  coldly  courteous  in  its  impartiality  that  even  the  watch- 
ful lover  could  behold  their  proximity  without  heartburning. 

And,  with  white  drapery  fluttering  in  the  breeze  that  fanned 
his  face,  she,  all  iinconscious,  stepped  by.  A  great  rush  of 
tenderness  swelled  his  heart.  Was  such  happiness  to  be  for 
him? 

Four,  years  ago,  when  they  had  parted,  under  the  enow- 
bound  sky,  and  she  had  slipped  her  little  fingers,  warm  from 
her  muff,  into  his  cold  grasp,  how  frank  and  firm  had  been 
their  pressure,  how  they  had  quivered  under  his  passionate 
kisses!  She  had  loved  him  then!  But  now?  What  right 
had  he  to  expect  this  child's  love  to  have  lasted  ? 

Madly  as  her  exquisite  womanhood  set  his  heart  a-beating, 
he  could  wish  to  have  her  less  beautiful;  to  him  she  must 
ever  have  remained  the  only  woman  in  the  world. 

Again  she  passed ;  again  the  glamorous  blue  ray  swept  him 
with  unseeing  sweetness.  Poor  fool!  with  his  heart  in  his 
throat,  shaking  now  as  if  with  palsy ! 

The  very  ease  with  which  the  longed-for  opportunity  came 
robbed  him  of  all  courage.  For  a  few  hours,  at  least,  he 
would  hug  his  dream  of  bliss. 

Before  the  burnished  twist  of  hair,  that  flashed  gold  in  the 
sunlight,  had  been  lost  in  the  crowd,  the  music  ceased. 
Lewis  rose  from  his  seat  to  follow  Maude  to  her  residence,  a 
purpose  he  successfully  accomplished  without  attracting  at- 
tention. He  fell  to  reconnoitering  the  neighborhood,  with  a 
view  to  engaging  quarters  in  the  immediate  vicinity.  He 
had  not  far  to  seek;  a  minor  hotel  directly  faced  the  more 
pretentious  building  that  sheltered  his  love,  and  therein  he 
straightway  secured  a  front  room. 

The  rest  of  the  day  and  the  long  hours  of  the  night  he 
passed  in  a  kind  of  waking  dream. 

For  night  had  descended,  with  a  purple  moonless  sky; 
odors  of  earth  and  leaf  rose  from  the  cooling  soil.  One  by 
one  the  noises  ceased,  the  townlet  was  lulled  to  a  restful 
silence,  broken  toward  midnight  by  a  sudden  brief  exodus  of 
merry,  bed-going  groups,  passing  from  the  Kiirsaal  under  his 
windows. 

Half  unconsciously  Lewis  noticed  the  solitary  figure, of  a 


"  Qui  Part  Trop  Tot  Rivient  Trop  Tard."    99 

traveler,  who  followed  by  a  porter  in  charge  of  a  much- 
belabeled  portmanteau,  crossed  over  to  the  hotel  opposite. 

The  stranger  stood  a  moment  on  the  steps  before  entering, 
and,  taking  off  his  hat,  turned  as  if  to  welcome  the  breeze 
that  stole  fresh  from  the  plains.  It  was  a  keen,  grave  face 
in  profile,  sharply  defined  against  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
wall. 

It  was  well  that  Lewis  could  catch  no  glimpse  of  the  light 
form  that  next  slipped  in  so  quickly,  it  had  been  sweet  to 
think  of  his  darling  safe  in  her  virgin  sanctuary.  Yet  it  was 
Maude  who  stood  in  the  tiled  hall  of  the  hotel,  watching  with 
wide-opened  eyes,  brilliant  with  surprised  recognition,  the 
vigorous  figure  of  the  gray-clad  traveler  as  he  slowly  followed 
his  portmanteau  up  the  stairs. 

And  late  into  the  night,  by  her  open  window  she,  too,  sat 
dreaming,  so  near  and  yet  so  far  from  the  poor  passion- 
tossed  watcher  who  could  not  sleep  for  very  love  of  her. 

At  length,  as  the  dawn  of  day  crept  over  the  heavens,  Lewis 
flung  himself  on  his  bed.  But  there  could  be  no  sleep  for  so 
busy  a  brain ;  burning  with  fire  of  hope,  chilled  with  present- 
iment of  evil. 

Toward  seven,  when  Homburg  was  already  astir  and  abroad, 
he  was  glad  to  rise  once  more;  and  though  depressed,  he 
could  not  fail  to  be  cheered  by  the  beauty  of  the  day  that  was 
to  make  or  mar  him.  With  courage  renewed,  he  bathed, 
dressed,  and  drank  his  steaming  coffee  with  a  grateful  sense 
of  invigoration.  As  he  stopped  on  the  doorstep,  Maude  her- 
self, the  very  embodiment  of  summer  sweetness  and  morning 
freshness,  came  quickly  out  of  the  opposite  house  and  turned 
up  the  street.  And  then  he  thought  that  fortune  meant  to 
favor  him  indeed. 

Avoiding  the  fashionable  throng  the  girl  struck  into  a 
solitary  side-alley  that  led  to  the  pine-woods,  and  Lewis,  with 
a  leaping  pulse,  doubled  his  pace,  and  in  a  few  strides  had 
overtaken  her. 

She  did  not  know  him;  not  even  when  he  addressed  her  in 
the  old  familiar  way,  and  held  out  his  eager  hand.  Her 
first  look  of  surprise  changed  to  a  wondering  perplexity  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice,  as  if  it  struck  some  chord  in  memory, 
but  which  aroused  faint  associations.  He  had  to  name  him- 
seK.  He  had  not  forgotten  her,  changed  as  she  was.  And 
then,  at  the  easy  warmth  of  her  greeting,  the  growing  pos- 
sibility of  that  contingency  he  dared  not  contemplate  came 
upon  him  with  misgiving. 

"Lewis!"  dropping  her  sunshade  to  stretch  out  both  hands 
to  him;  "actually,  really  you!  Where  do  you  spring  from? 
and  what  are  you  doing  here?    You  have  not  come  for  the 


loo  "  Qui  Part  Trop  Tot  Rivient  Trop  Tard." 

waters,  surely?"  This  with  a  merry  laugh.  "Well,  I  am 
heartily  glad  to  see  you.  But  how  you  have  changed  1  I 
never  should  have  known  you  again." 

Each  sentence  was  emphasized  by  a  shake  of  the  hand; 
not  a  change  of  color  on  the  smooth  cheeks  nor  the  flutter  of 
an  eyelid  over  the  frank  scrutiny  of  her  gaze.  No  old  com- 
rade could  have  been  more  cheerful  in  his  greeting. 

Her  careless,  friendly  self-abandonment,  at  a  time  when  it 
required  all  his  power  of  control,  under  the  touch  of  her 
hands,  filled  him  suddenly  with  a  sort  of  anger. 

"I  am  home  on  leave,"  he  said  at  last,  white  to  his  tremb- 
ling lips;  "when  I  came  to  London,  three  days  ago,  I  heard 
you  were  here,  and  so  I  followed." 

The  girl  gave  him  a  quick,  puzzled  look;  then  the  bright 
smile  wavered  and  faded ;  she  slowly  drew  her  hands  from  his 
grasp. 

"Maude,"  he  cried  passionately ;  "it  is  no  use  beating  about 
the  bush.     I  must  speak  to  you  to-day." 

"Dear  Lewis,"  she  anowered  in  soothing  tones,  "of  course  I 
will  listen  to  you.     What  has  happened  ?" 

It  cut  him  to  the  heart  to  see  the  uncomprehending  kind- 
ness of  her  lovely  face ;  he  could  not  speak,  the  words  refused 
to  come.  He  could  only  look  at  her  with  his  poor,  htmgry, 
clenching  hands  and  trembling  as  he  stood  before  her. 

For  a  minute  she  waited ;  then,  light  seemed  to  break  upon 
her,  and  she  flushed  crimson. 

"I  think,"  she  said  very  gently,  rather  as  if  in  pain,  "that 
it  may  be  best,  Lewis,  for  both  of  us,  that  I  should  not  listen 
to  what  you  have  to  say." 

He  knew  thus,  before  she  had  spoken,  what  his  fate  was; 
but  he  must  speak  the  pent-up  love. 

"Maude,  I  have  loved  you  since  I  first  saw  you.  Surely 
you  knew  it.  You  must  have  felt  it.  My  only  thought 
since  then  has  been  of  you.  I  dreamed  of  winning  fame  that 
I  might  win  you;  I  turned  soldier  that  I  might  fight  myself 
to  the  front,  achieve  something  for  you.  .  .  .  Do  you 
remember  when  I  last  saw  you  ?  Did  you  not  know  that  I  was 
tearing  myself  away  from  the  land  where  you  lived,  only  to 
make  myself  worthy  of  you?  I  thought — God  help  me! — 
that  if  I  were  to  do  some  brilliant  deed  for  you,  there  might 
be  hope  for  me.  I  tried  hard,  but  the  fame  I  longed  for  falls 
to  the  lot  of  those  who  command.  T  came  home  as  obscure 
as  when  I  left — but  loving  you,  Maude,  more  madly  than 
ever !  When  we  parted  at  thfe  gate  four  years  ago,  I  told  you 
of  my  love,  you  answered  nothing;  but  your  sweet  eyesl  I 
saw  a  light  in  them  that  has  been  my  beacon,  my  guiding 
star,  ever  since.    I  came  home  to  seek  from  the  woman  the 


"  Qui  Part  Trop  Tot  Rivient  Trop  Tard."  loi 

mute  hope  the  child  had  not  refused  me,  and  then,  with 
fresh  courage,  to  take  up  the  battle  of  life  again,  to  force 
iate  to  make  me  worthy  of  you.  If  you  were  willing  to 
wait,  I  knew  I  must  succeed  in  the  end.  On  my  return  I 
learned  an  overwhelming  piece  of  news :  I  was  rich,  Maude — 
I  was  somebody  at  last ;  Gilham  and  all  that  gi'eat  estate  was 
niine!  My  only  joy  in  it  was  that  it  might  be  yours;  I  am 
rich  enough  for  my  own  wants.  God  forgive  me!  I  was 
mad  with  joy  when  I  thought  of  you.  I  started  that  very 
day  to  seek  you,  to  lay  it  all  at  your  feet ;  what  did  I  care  for 
it  except  for  you?  Maude,  I  must  hear  the  words  from 
your  lips;  tell  me  yourself  that  I  must  kill  that  hope,  grown 
to  become  the  very  life  of  my  life." 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Dear  Lewis!  it  can  never 
be." 

"At  least  you  loved  me — then.  Tell  me,  you  loved  me 
then." 

She  hung  her  head,  faltering:  "What  could  such  a  child 
know  of  love?" 

For  a  second  it  seemed  as  if  the  earth  gave  way  beneath 
him. 

A  look,  five  minutes  together  on  that  sunny  morning  under 
the  trembling  shadow  of  a  white-faced  aspen — and  it  was 
done. 

"I  am  so  grieved,"  came  the  soft,  grave  voice,  once  the 
dearest  sound  on  earth,  now  the  most  acutely  painful.  He 
glanced  down  at  her  flushed  face,  at  tlie  tender  mouth,  drawn 
down  at  the  corners  with  the  pitiful,  helpless  expression  of  a 
scolded  child,  at  the  eyes  brimming  with  grief,  and  thought 
the  cup  of  bitterness  was  full  indeed,  and  that  her  compassion 
he  could  not  bear. 

"Good-by,  it  is  good-by,  Maude.  Do  not  fear  that  I  shall 
ever  bring  such  trouble  into  your  life  again." 

Mechanically  he  raised  his  hat,  and,  refusing  to  see  her 
timidly  proffered  hand,  hurried  away  along  the  green  avenue 
that  led  to  the  pine-trees.  Before  his  inward  vision  stretched 
the  prospect  of  an  aimless  life.  How  was  he  ever  to  have 
courage  to  go  on  with  it? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A   TAVERN    ACQUAINTANCE. 


Late  in  thQ  evening  of  the  same  day,  David  Fargue  and 
Lewis  Kerr — ^well-intentioned  hunter  and  unconscious  quarry 
— distant  from  each  other  by  some  twenty  paces  only,  were 
strolling  along  the  ill-condition  pavement  of  a  narrow  wind- 
ing street  in  the  old  university  tovni  of  Heidelberg. 

By  dint  of  relentless  inquiries,  Fargus  had  discovered  his 
son's  hurried  flight  from  Homburg,  and  puzzled  to  account 
for  it,  and  upset  in  his  calculations,  started  in  pursuit.  On 
arrival  at  Heidelberg,  after  engaging  a  room  at  a  hotel,  he 
straightway  sallied  forth  again  on  his  carefully  arranged 
plan  of  reconnoitering.  It  was  his  intention  to  make  the 
round  of  all  places  of  entertainment,  inquiring  for  a  sup- 
posititious English  friend — a  device  which  he  calculated 
would  secure  him  an  inspection  of  the  visitors'  book. 

At  the  very  first  halt,  fortune  had  favored  the  amateur 
detective.  A  talkative  waiter  suddenly  pointed  out  through 
the  glass  door  a  stalwart,  tweed-clad  figure  rapidly  passing 
toward  the  street. 

"This  is  the  only  gentleman  who  has  come  here  to-day. 
English,  too,  I  will  show  you  the  book;  you  can  see  for  your- 
self the  last  entry — Mr.  Kerr,  from  Homburg." 

And  thus  it  happened  that  a  few  moments  later,  David 
Fargus  found  himself  dogging  .the  erratic  wanderings  of 
Lewis  Kerr  through  devious  by-lanes  and  up  the  High  street. 

It  was  a  long  and  monotonous  way,  scantily  lighted. 

By-and-by  Lewis,  who  up  to  that  had  walked  aimlessly, 
dived  down  a  side-alley,  Fargus,  guided  by  a  glimpse  of  the 
broad  back  under  the  shine  of  a  rare  lamp,  sometimes  only 
by  the  ring  of  the  clean  thread,  roamed  in  pursuit,  in  and  out 
lanes  through  the  labyrinth  of  the  older  quarter. 

Then  the  footfalls  abruptly  ceased;  there  was  the  sound 
of  a  swinging  door.  Hounding  the  corner,  Fargus  found 
himself  in  an  empty  street,  before  an  old-fashioned  house. 

This  house  was  studiously  "Gothic,"  ancient.  Wrought- 
iron  work,  grotesquely  carved  wood,  gave  it  fantastic  attrac- 
tions ;  a  hinged  signboard,  proclaimed,  by  the  light  of  a  small 
green  lamp,  in  bristling,  curveting  black  letters,  that  within 
were  "Old  German"  wine-rooms. 

The  laying  out  of  a  wine-room  is  the  object  of  much  at- 
tention. The  "Alt  Deutsche  Wein  Stuhe"  to  be  found  in 
almost  ©very  German  town,  is  usually  a  place  of  moderate 


"A  Tavern  Acquaintance.**  103 

dimensions — for  the  consumers  of  the  noble  wine  do  not 
come  in  throngs  like  the  daily  beer-swillers. 

Fargus  had  come  to  a  standstill,  and  now  remained  lost. 
At  last  he  made  up  his  mind  and  plunged  within  the  lighted 
recesses. 

In  a  far  comer  of  a  deserted  room  sat  the  object  of  his 
pursuit.    From  the  threshold  Fargus  looked  keenly  at  him. 

Square-headed,  square-shouldered,  bearing  the  stamp  of  his 
nationality  as  unmistakably  as  the  stamp  of  his  profession, 
the  young  man  sat,  gazing  in  gloomy  abstraction  at  the  am- 
ber-filled goblet.  He  raised  his  head  at  the  sound  of  the 
opening  door,  and  Fargus  recognized,  beyond  hesitation  the 
original  of  the  much-studied  portrait. 

With  an  inward  start,  the  father  met  the  gaze  of  two 
somber  yet  brilliant  eyes.  How  often  had  not  the  George 
Kerr  of  old,  during  those  last  unhappy  days  of  his  existence,  a 
quarter  century  back,  beheld  just  such  another  haggard  young 
face,  whenever  he  had  chanced  to  meet  his  own  reflected  image. 

Maintaining  his  outward  placidity  Fargus  silently  sat  at 
the  nearest  table;  watched,  under  cover  of  his  shading  hand, 
each  action  of  that  scowling  man  who  was  his  son. 

Lewis  tossed  his  glass,  filled  it  again,  and  again  emptied  the 
brimmer.     Then  he  relapsed  into  his  former  heavy  reflection. 

Fargus  felt  a  sharp  pang  of  disappointment;  the  shaking 
hand,  the  flushed  face,  and  brooding  eye  were  signs  that  he 
had  learned  to  read  but  too  well. 

Under  the  sting  of  that  first  impression  he  now  thought  of 
abandoning  this  time  the  creature  who  had  been  his  sole 
thought  for  so  many  days,  lest  the  knowing  of  him  should 
prove  a  bitterness.  But  there  came  to  him  a  curious,  un- 
wonted emotion  which  warned  him  that  Nature  was  deter- 
mined to  assert  her  rights,  however  late — then  the  remem- 
brance of  all  the  information,  collected  with  so  much  difli- 
culty,  concerning  his  son's  past,  information  which  tallied 
so  ill  with  the  dawning  suspicion. 

A  few  minutes  of  silent  watching,  and  it  did  not  require 
his  knowledge  of  physiognomy  to  discover  here  was  no  ordi- 
nary ease;  some  unusual  agitation  was  at  work  behind  the 
young  soldier's  determined  potations. 

Lewis  refilled  and  emptied  his  glass,  and  called  out,  in 
German : 

"Herr  Wirth,  another  bottle  of  the  same !" 

There  was  fever  in  the  young  man's  excited  manner,  and 
Fargus  began  to  feel  a  new  solicitude. 

"He  is  battling  with  some  terrible  thought.  What  can  it 
be?    If  I  could  help  him    ...     if  I  only  knewl" 

The  host  bustled  in  upon  his  reflections,  and,  after  placing 


104  "A  Tavern  Acquaintance.'* 

the  required  flask  and  a  dish  of  meat — evidently  some  pre- 
vious order — before  Lewis,  turned,  smiling  and  apologetic,  to 
the  late-comer  and  requested  to  know  his  pleasure. 

Fergus  seized  upon  this  opportunity  with  beating  heart. 

"Forgive  my  troubling  you,"  he  said;  "I  fancy  I  am  not 
mistaken  in  taking  you  for  an  Englishman,  and,  as  I  hear 
you  speak  the  jargon,  may  I  beg  you  to  interpret  me  to  this 
fellow?" 

Lewis  looked  up  at  the  speaker,  who,  with  his  peaked  beard 
and  the  great  scar  across  his  face,  did  not  at  first  sight  look 
like  a  countryman.  But,  falling  under  the  spell  of  kind  eyes 
and  a  sympathetic  smile,  he  suddenly  recovered  understanding 
and  courtesy,  and  rose  to  his  feet  likewise. 

"Do  you  want  supper,  or  merely  wine?"  he  inquired. 
"There  is  not  much  choice  of  the  former  in  a  place  like  this, 
but  the  wine  is  good.  Perhaps  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to 
taste  this;  you  might  like  to  have  the  same — Herr  Wirth, 
another  glass." 

The  pleasant,  refined  voice  fell  gratefuly  on  the  father's 
ear. 

Accepting  the  offer,  Fargus  came  and  sat  down  at  the  same 
table;  the  glasses  were  filled. 

There  was  a  desultory  interchange  of  remarks  on  the  qual- 
ity of  the  beverage.  Then  a  not  unnatural  silence  fell  be- 
tween them. 

Awakening  to  the  fact  that  the  ice  so  happily  broken  was 
fast  setting  again,  Fargus  took  a  plunge. 

Leaning  forward  and  fixing  the  moody  face  across  the  table 
with  a  look  of  unconscious  but  compelling  earnestness:  "I 
hope  you  will  forgive  my  intrusion,"  said  he,  "on  your 
privacy;  but  when  I  first  saw  you  it  struck  me  that  I  knew 
your  face,  and  now,  on  closer  examination,  I  feel  almost  sure 
I  do.  May  I  ask  if  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Mr. 
Lewis  Kerr?" 

Called  from  his  far  abstraction,  Lewis  seemed  irritated,  but 
again  became  subject  to  some  subtle,  pleasing  influence.  At 
the  last  words  he  turned  round  and  surveyed  his  interlocutor 
with  curiosity. 

"That  is  my  name,"  he  answered  wonderingly.  "But  I 
cannot  remember  ever  having  seen  you  before," 

"You  are  right,"  said  Fargus,  with  a  smile;  %ut  I  was 
looking  at  a  portrait  of  you,  and  that  quite  lately." 

"My  portrait  ?     And  where  ?" 

"At  Woldham  Hall." 

The  wound  was  yet  too  fresh  to  bear  even  so  slight  a  touch. 
It  was  a  minute  or  two  before  he  became  aware  that  the 
stranger  was  still  speaking. 


"A  Tavern  Acquaintance."  105 

"And  so,  as  a  two  months'  tenant  of  the  Lone  Grange,  I 
consider  myself  quite  an  old  inhabitant.  I  knew  your  late 
uncle  slightly,  and  am  a  warm  admirer  of  that  fine  old  house, 
the  present  master  of  which,  I  believe,  I  am  now  addressing." 

Lewis  winced.  Once  more  Fargus  racked  his  brain  for  a 
solution,  trying  to  ward  off  a  dread  of  some  hidden  disgrace. 

"He  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  his  home  or  his  old 
friends!  And  yet  how  well  they  all  spoke  of  the  lad!  the 
Greneral  seemed  to  love  him  like  a  son." 

"And  so  you  know  the  Woldhams!"  said  Lewis  abruptly. 
"How  curious !  Woldham  Hall  was  as  nearly  a  home  as  any 
place  has  ever  been  to  me;  it  is  four  years  since  I  was  there. 
The  general  was  very  good  to  me.  I  suppose  he  is  growing  an 
old  man  now?" 

"It  is  a  green  old  age;  he  looks  good  for  many  years  to 
come.     His  daughter  is  beautiful ;  I  hear  she  is  at  Homburg." 

As  he  spoke  these  words  the  meaning  of  it  all  flashed  upon 
the  father's  mind.  The  surmises  he  had  made  regarding  a 
romantic  attachment  between  the  fair  mistress  of  Woldham 
and  his  son  had  been  correct  only  as  regarded  the  latter,  and 
the  young  dragoon  had  dashed  in  pursuit  of  his  old  sweetheart 
only  to  be  refused. 

Thereupon  ensued  silence,  this  time  a  fairly  protracted  one. 

The  lad  was  hard  hit,  thought  Fargus.  No  wonder  the 
tJiought  of  his  splendid  inheritance  now  brought  nothing  but 
bitterness.  "But  luckily,"  urged  the  wisdom  of  yearsr  and  ex- 
perience, "it  will  not  last." 

Soon  Fargus  found  himself  wondering,  and  with  hot  indig- 
nation, what  in  the  world  that  girl  could  mean  by  rejecting 
his  son — manly,  good-looking  fellow  as  he  was — and  next 
there  came  a  creeping  satisfaction  in  the  connected  thought 
that  the  all-absorbing  interest  of  happy  love  was  not  to  come 
between  the  son  and  his  unknown  father — at  any  rate,  for  a 
little  while  yet. 

Throwing  all  his  will  into  the  intensity  of  his  desire,  the 
father  made  another  determined  effort. 

"Our  meeting  to-night,"  he  remarked,  "in  this  quaint 
tavern — ancient,  at  least,  in  intention — in  the  heart  of  a 
seventeenth  century  town,  and  my  recognition  of  you  over  a 
glass  of  wine,  might  form  a  good  opening  chapter  in  a  novel 
of  the  old-fashioned  school,  might  it  not,  Mr.  Kerr?  .  .  . 
Of  what  thrilling  events  and  adventures  would  not  this  occur- 
rence be  the  starting  point!  In  real  life,  who  knows  if  we 
shall  ever  look  upon  each  other's  face  again  ?" 

Lewis  turned  his  eyes  toward  his  companion  with  a  grate- 
ful sense  of  restfulness  upon  the  calm,  kindly  face  before  him; 
but  he  did  not  speak. 


io6  "  A  Tavern  Acquaintance." 

"Yet  I  am  wrong,"  began  his  companion  once  more,  with 
qiiick  perception  of  the  young  man's  unconscious  sympathy. 
**We  are  destined  to  be  neighbors  for  a  goodly  time  to  come, 
and,  I  hope,  destined  to  be  friends.  May  I  introduce  myself  to 
my  actual  landlord  over  there  in  Yorkshire? — for,  strangely 
enough,  it  is  now  your  old  manor-house  of  which  I  am  the 
tenant.  David  Fargus,  citizen  of  Washington,  in  the  United 
State,  at  your  service.     Shall  we  not  shake  hands?" 

Lewis  extended  his  hand  to  find  it  quickly  inclosed  in  a 
warm,  firm  clasp  and  gently  retained. 

"Here  is  the  birth  of  a  new  day,"  said  Fargus,  glancing 
with  a  smile  at  the  high  clock,  which  now  pointed  to  the 
twelfth  hour.  He  retained  his  son's  hand  till  the  last  vibra- 
tion of  the  twelve  strokes  had  died  away,  and  then,  with  a 
half -laugh,  released  it. 

The  young  man  brushed  his  forehead  with  the  gesture  of 
one  awakening  from  a  dream. 

"A  most  extraordinary  thing !"  he  murmured,  staring  at  his 
acquaintance  with  undisguised  wonder.  "While  my  hand 
lay  in  yours  I  seemed  to  forget  how  dead  tired  I  am  and  all 
about  this  splitting  head  of  mine,  just  as  though  you  actually 
mesmerized  me.  I  had  a  puzzling  sensation,  too,  as  if  it  were 
quite  natural  to  have  you  there — as  if  your  touch  and  presence 
were  both  familiar  and  jjleasant.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  boast 
of  being  altogether  in  my  sound  sense  to-night." 

Stopping  short  to  look  more  closely  at  the  clean-cut  profile 
he  cried  suddenly : 

"I  have  seen  you  before;  yet  I  cannot  think  where.  I  know 
now.  It  was  last  night ;  you  landed  at  the  hotel  at  Homburg 
— you  stood  on  the  steps,  thinking;  I  saw  you  from  my  win- 
dow in  a  little  inn  opposite — only  last  night;  it  seems  years 
ago." 

He  felt  overcome  with  great  weariness.  For  three  nights 
no  sleep  had  descended  on  his  eyes ;  now  nervous  strength  was 
failing.  Fargus'  strong,  vigorous  presence  seemed  to  uphold 
and  master  his  mind. 

"I  am  tired  out,  tired  of  life.  I  desire  nothing  but  forget- 
fulness.  I  tried  to  find  it  in  wine;  it  was  worse  than  all. 
There  is  but  one  way  to  find  it,  that  is  in  death." 

Strange,  thought  the  father,  kind  were  the  workings  of  fate 
which  had  brought  him  to  his  son's  side  at  such  a  moment. 
Laying  his  hand  on  the  other's  wrist,  he  spoke  gently  but  with 
an  earnestness  bom  of  his  own  keen  sense  of  the  danger  of  hi%. 
utter  mental  breakdown. 

"Rouse  yourself ;  I  do  not  know  what  is  on  your  mind,  but 
you  have  let  yourself  run  down  too  low.  Think.  Tnere  is 
always  plenty  left  to  do  in  a  young  life,  and  ultimately  to 


"A  Tavern  Acquaintance."  107 

enjoy.  Only  cowards  shrink  from  the  battle's  outset.  With 
a  fair  name,  a  good  conscience,  there  is  something  worth  liv- 
ing for  in  every  life — ^you  are  exhausted.     Eat." 

The  anxiety  of  the  elder  man's  eye  relaxed  when  he  eav^ 
I^ewis  draw  his  plate  before  him  and  obey.  Tracing  the  po- 
tency of  his  influence,  as  much  to  the  young  man's  condition 
as  to  his  own  singleness  of  thought,  Fargus  watched  its 
working  with  satisfaction. 

When  the  last  morsel  was  finished,  the  father,  quietly  prof- 
fering a  cigar  carefully  selected  from  his  case,  the  young 
man  in  the  same  obedient  manner  kindled  the  Havana  at  the 
match  that  was  struck  for  him. 

The  American  followed  suit,  and  there  ensued  a  few  mo- 
ments of  silence,  in  which  both  lay  back  in  their  chairs, 
slowly  inhaling  and  exhaling  the  fragi-ant  smoke;  Fargus 
keenly  watchful,  under  his  half-closed  lids,  Lewis  absorbed 
in  his  new-found,  dreamy  placidity. 

This  pleasant  state  of  things  was  soon  disturbed.  Bois- 
terous laughter  and  a  rattling  of  canes  in  the  quiet  street 
heralded  the  appearance  of  three  hilarious  youths,  students, 
as  their  colors  proclaimed,  which  gentry  burst  into  the  room 
and  began  clattering  with  sticks  on  the  nearest  table. 

The  hellish  clangor  broke  the  spell  which  seemed  to  bind 
Lewis's  thoughts. 

"I  do  believe  that  you  did  take  me  away  from  myself.  I 
seem  to  have  been  in  a  dream — during  which  I  see  I  have 
contrived  to  make  a  very  substantial  supper.  Was  it  not 
you  who  ordered  me  to  eat?" 

"I  suggested  it ;  you  required  it.    How  do  you  feel  now  ?" 

"Better,  thank  you.    Actually  as  if  I  could  sleep  to-night." 

Here  the  laughter  and  witticisms  round  the  table  where 
the  cavaliers  had  settled  became  so  uproarious,  that  unable 
to  hear  himself  speak,  Fargus  broke  off  in  his  talk  and  half- 
turned  on  his  chair  to  look  severely  at  the  delinquents. 

"Where  do  these  creatures,  in  caps  so  much  too  small  for 
their  fat  heads,  come  from?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice,  bend- 
ing closer  to  his  companion;  "the  University  is  not  sitting 
now." 

"Students  on  a  tour,"  said  Lewis  in  the  same  tone. 

"How  absurd  they  look  with  their  seamed  faces  and  that 
painful  rotundity  of  figure!"  He  was  about  contemptuously 
to  turn  his  back  upon  the  group,  when  he  became  aware  that 
its  largest  and  most  obtrusive  member  was  now  engaged  in 
staring  at  him  with  as  much  insolence  as  two  excessively 
heated  eyes  could  convey,  and  paused  to  return  the  look  with 
placid  disfavor. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Levsds,  "allow  me  to  entreat  you  to  bo- 


io8  "A  Tavern  Acquaintance." 

stow  your  attention  elsewhere  for  the  moment.  Corps  stu- 
dents often  make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  be  actively  imperti- 
nent to  those  outside  their  order,  on  the  slenderest  pretext." 

As  he  spoke,  silence  fell  on  the  couleur-party,  all  three  of 
which  looked  solemnly  toward  Fargus;  then  the  first  berib- 
boned  individual  rose,  with  unsteady  dignity,  and  came  for- 
ward. He  stopped  within  a  pace  of  the  Englishman's  table, 
closed  his  high  heels  with  a  bellicose  tap.  "Sir,"  he  said  in 
German,  "why  did  you  fix  me  ?    I  cannot  allow  you  to  do  so  I" 

The  admirable  correction  of  this  challenge  was  lost  upon 
Fargus,  who  had  to  address  himself  to  Lewis  for  interpreta- 
tion. 

"What  does  this  gentleman  say?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Lewis  hurriedly,  anxious  to  gloss  things  over, 
"he  wants  to  know  what  you  are  looking  at  him  for.  It  is 
part  of  their  system  to  resent  being  'fixed,'  as  they  call  it. 
Mein  Herr,"  he  continued,  making  a  slight  bow  to  the  corps- 
man,  "this  gentleman  is  a  stranger,  and  speaks  no  German. 
He  did  not  intend  to  fix  you,  but  regarded  your  party  with  a 
traveler's  curiosity."  And,  bowing  again,  he  sat  down,  in 
hopes  of  having  concluded  the  episode. 

"Very  well,  sir;  tell  him,  then,  not  to  look  at  us  again." 

"That  I  shall  not  do!"  retorted  Lewis,  stung  to  anger. 
"What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  offering  such  impertinence 
to  strangers — ^guests  in  your  land?" 

The  Bursch  wheeled  round,  and  petrified  himself  into  an 
attitude  of  the  most  rigid  dignity. 

"Silly  youth,  I  must  trouble  you  for  your  card." 

Lewis  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and  tossed  a  card  on  the 
table;  the  German  became  preposterously  courteous.  He 
took  the  card  with  much  apparent  satisfaction,  touched  his 
cap,  first  to  one,  then  to  the  other,  and  swaggered  back  to 
his  companions,  who  had  looked  on  in  solemn  approval. 

Though  unable  to  understand  a  word,  Fargus  could  not 
misinterpret  the  student's  tones,  nor  the  anger  with  which 
Lewis  had  flung  his  card  down. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?  You  are  not  going  to 
take  a  challenge  from  that  sodden  fool  ?" 

"If  he  is  not  too  drunk  to  forget  all  about  it,  it  is  prob- 
able he  will  send  some  one  in  the  morning  to  request  the 
honor  of  a  fight  with  me." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  Lewis  yawned  and  leaned  again 
on  the  table.  "If  I  could  only  sleep  to-night,  the  chance  of 
meeting  the  great  Amadis  would  tempt  me  to  get  up  again." 

The  students  retired  almost  immediately. 

Fargus  resolved  to  see  his  boy  back  to  bis  room,  and  en- 


The  "  Commeut "  of  Honor.  109 

deavor,  without  seeming  indiscreet,  to  induce  him  to  lie*down 
to  rest. 

When  once  more  left  to  themselves,  he  laid  his  hand  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder. 

"Come,  it  is  time  for  you  to  have  some  sleep.  Where  are 
you  stopping?" 

"Where  am  I  stopping?  Where?  I  forget;  I  will  sleep 
here." 

And  stretching  his  arm  forward,  laid  his  head  on  the  table. 

l^^argus  quickly  made  up  his  mind.  He  called  the  landlord, 
and  naming  his  hotel,  made  it  understood  he  required  a  guide 
thither. 

Lewis  got  up  when  Fargus  took  him  under  the  arm.  The 
hotel  soon  appeared  in  sight,  when  the  American  dismissed 
his  guide  and  hurried  his  stumbling  charge  into  its  shelter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  "comment"  of   HONOR. 

Disdaining  the  grin  of  the  night-porter,  Fargus  conveyed 
the  young  man  to  his  own  quarters. 

He  locked  the  door,  perceiving  an  adjoining  bed-room  was 
vacant,  and  resolved  to  usurp  it  for  himself,  abandoning  his 
own  bed  to  his  son. 

As  for  Lewis,  with  a  few  words  of  thanks,  he  flung  himself 
on  the  couch. 

The  elder  man  stood  gazing  at  him,  immersed  in  thought. 

In  the  relaxation  of  sleep  the  young  frame  looked  broad 
and  powerful.  With  head  thrown  back  the  muscular 
column  of  his  throat  showed,  deeply  sunburned.  His  arms 
were  folded  above  his  head;  this  Fargus  noted,  for  it  had 
been  a  habit  of  his  own  youthful  days. 

He  caught  himself  sighing,  and  at  length  roused  himself 
from  his  contemplation,  to  bend  over  the  reclining  form  and 
loosen  the  collar  and  tie,  unlace  and  pull  off  the  boots.  Then 
he  carefully  covered  the  sleeper,  drew  the  blind  and  curtains, 
and  after  one  last  look  at  his  son,  retired  to  the  next  room 
and  closed  the  door. 

The  sun  had  crossed  the  meridian  before  Lewis  awoke. 

He  lay  still,  enjoying  the  sensation  of  lazy  well-being  in 
every  limb.  Then  a  curious  sensation  of  unfamiliarity  with 
his  circximstances  began  to  wax  disturbingly;  and  presently 
there  was  the  shock  of  the  discovery  that  he  had  gone  to  b«l 
in  his  clothes. 


no  The  "Comment"  of  Honor. 

He  sat  up,  bewildered,  struggling  to  piece  together  the  con- 
fused scraps  of  last  night's  proceedings.  It  was  in  vain  he 
strove ;  he  could  not  recollect  how  he  had  gone  to  bed. 

"Confound  it!"  cried  Lewis  aloud,  tossed  petulantly  back 
his  covering,  and  curved  his  long  legs  over  the  side  of  the  bed, 
in  which  position  a  knock  at  the  door  arrested  him. 

"Come  in,"  cried  he.  It  was  the  stranger  of  last  night  who 
stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  adjoining  room,  and  smiled  upon 
him  with  that  odd  gaze  which  had  bewitched  him  in  the 
tavern. 

"Well,  and  how  do  you  feel  after  sleeping  the  round  of  the 
clock?"  just  as  if  it  were  all  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world. 

Lewis  stared  hard,  and  then  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  my  room  ?"  was  a  counter-question 
that  not  unnaturally  rose  to  his  lips.  But  almost  at  the  same 
time  his  irritated  glance  fell,  and,  when  he  spoke,  the  words 
came  forth  wonderfully  modified,  almost  apologetic.  "May  I 
ask  why  you  are  here,  what  you  are  doing  in  my  room  ?  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  blundered  he,  abashed  all  at  once,  and  with  a 
confused,  humiliated  consciousness  of  the  contrast  between 
liis  own  unkempt  condition  and  the  perfect  appointments  of 
his  visitor.  "I  have  the  vaguest  recollection  of  what  took 
place  last  night — I  do  remember  meeting  you.  I  hope  I  had 
not  too  much  wine  on  board  ?" 

"It  was  not  so  much  a  case  of  too  much  wine,  as  of  too 
little  food,  I  should  say,  and  over-fatigue,"  answered  Fargus 
kindly.     "Perhaps,  also,  too  much  worry  in  your  head." 

At  this  allusion  the  black  cloud  settled  back  on  Lewis'  face. 

The  father,  turning  to  draw  the  curtains  and  admit  the 
warm  sunlight  of  a  perfect  day,  went  on  easily: 

"Pardon  me  for  coming  in  upon  you  in  this  manner;  I 
heard  you  move  first,  and  call,  I  thought.  I  should  not  have 
disturbed  that  good  long  sleep  of  yours.  But  I  must  tell  you 
that  this  is  not  really  your  room,  nor  even  your  hotel.  Yon 
were  too  sleepy  last  night  to  remember  where  you  lodged,  and 
so  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  bring  you  back  with  me." 

The  young  man  flushed  scarlet. 

"Was  I  so  bad  as  all  that  ?"  he  asked  quickly,  and  looked  so 
aghast  that  the  elder  man's  heart  went  out  to  him. 

"No,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  gently.  "Some  people 
might  have  put  it  down  to  wine ;  but  I  knew  better." 

Lewis  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  speaker,  who  returned  his  gaze 
with  one  of  benevolent  amusement,  through  which  the  young 
man  felt  an  earnest  scrutiny  which  puzzled  and  embarrassed 
him. 

"It  was  really  good  of  you,"  he  said  at  length— "devilish 


If  he  "Comment^*  of  Honor.  lit 

good  of  you  I"  with  a  sudden  appreciation  of  his  obligation. 
"I  have  been  trying,  ever  since  I  awoke  this  morning,  to  re- 
member how  I  got  home.  I  had  no  idea  I  was  trespassing 
upon  your  kindness.     I  don't  know  why  you  took  the  trouble." 

"More  surprised  would  you  be  if  you  did!"  thought  the 
father,  while  aloud  he  genially  remarked: 

"Any  one  would  have  rendered  you  the  same  service.  I  was 
very  glad  to  be  of  use  to  you.  And  now  may  I  beg  you  to 
make  use  of  my  traps,  exactly  as  you  please.  You  will  find 
no  razors,  but  I  daresay  they  can  provide  you  with  some  sort 
of  implement  in  the  hotel;  and  as  to  other  things,  the  con- 
tents of  my  portmanteau  are  at  your  service.  Seeing  you 
have  unwittingly  partaken  of  my  hospitality,  will  you  give 
me  the  pleasure  of  extending  it  at  least  until  after  the 
luncheon  I  have  just  ordered  ?" 

Lewis  hesitated,  then  eagerly  accepted — anything  to  hush, 
for  the  moment,  the  clamor  of  his  pain. 

"You  will  find  me  on  the  terrace,"  added  Fargus. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  once  more  seated  opposite 
each  other  on  the  creeper-hung  terrace,  some  savory  dishes 
and  a  long  bottle  of  Rhenish  between  them. 

Lewis  would  have  been  other  than  human  not  to  feel  cheered 
by  the  influence  of  these  material  things,  no  less  than  by  his 
entertainer's  extraordinary  gift  of  pleasant  conversation. 

The  crusty  bottle  was  near  emptied..  Lewis  suddenly  re- 
alized that  he  and  this  man  of  many  travels  and  experiences, 
soldier  at  least  in  knowledge,  and  sportsman  unmistakable, 
were  old  friends  already,  and  that  he  did  not  even  know  his 
name. 

His  growing  attraction  toward  this  strange  being,  and  his 
simultaneously  growing  curiosity,  prompted  him  now  to 
frankly  admit  his  ignorance  and  beg  enlightenment. 

"I  should  so  much  like  to_  know  your  name,"  he  said 
naively. 

"Fargus — ^David  Fargus,"  answered  the  latter,  smiling. 

"A  proud  name  for  an  American  to  bear,"  cried  the  young 
soldier,  who  was  an  eager  student  of  military 'history.  "Are 
you  any  relation  of  the  famous  Colonel  Fargus  ?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Lewis  looked  up,  to  see  the 
stranger's  face  flush  darkly  under  its  bronze,  the  immense  scar 
on  his  forehead  standing  out  Hvidly  against  the  tide  of 
generous  blood. 

"Why,  good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with 
lightning  intuition,  "I  believe  you  are  the  very  man  him- 
self!" 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Fargus  felt  an  exquisite 
pleasure  in  his  fame.    Hitherto  he  had  accepted  its  ad- 


ixi  The  *' Comment  *' of  Honot. 

vantages  as  his  due.  Now  he  was  tasting  all  the  satisfac- 
tion it  is  capable  of  giving.  When  he  spoke  his  smile  was 
very  sweet. 

"So  you  have  found  the  old  soldier  out.  T  had  hardly 
thought  a  young  blood  like  you  would  even  know  of  such 
ancient  history.  Yes,  it  was  a  curious  time,  one  that  broucrht 
to  the  fore  any  man  with  capacity  for  the  art  of  war.  You 
have  seen  service,  too,  if  I  am  not  mistaken  ?" 

"T  was  in  Afghanistan,  and  also  through  that  unsavory 
Boer  business;  the  latter  not  one  we  English  like  to  talk  much 
about,"  answered  Lewis  briefly,  taken  aback  to  find  the  tables 
turned  upon  him.  "And  is  this  your  first  visit  to  Europe, 
sir?"  with  a  pretty,  unconscious  lapse  into  the  subaltern 
fashion  of  address  to  soldiers  of  standing, 

"No,"  answered  Fargus,  *T  am  an  old  traveler  in  the  Old 
World  as  well  as  the  New.  My  impression  of  Heidelberg, 
for  instance,  will,  no  doubt,  be  limited;  nevertheless  a  pict- 
uresque, withal  a  pleasant  one.  A  remembrance  of  a  tavern 
scene,  very  full  of  light  and  shade;  of  a  young  Englishman, 
immersed  in  thought,  seeking  rest  and  oblivion  in  the  com- 
panionship of  some  excellent  Steinberger;  three  highly  ob- 
jectionable roysterers — ^have  you  forgotten  them? — on  whom 
the  noble  wine  seemed  to  have  bad  a  very  different  influence, 
produce  a  bit  of  local  color  in  the  shape  of  a  challenge,  of 
which  I  fear  T  am  the  unwitting  cause.  So  much  for  the 
picturesque.  Next  the  remembrance  of  an  excellent  lunch 
under  the  veranda  of  a  hotel,  the  name  of  which  I  shall  prob- 
ably forget,  in  the  congenial  company  of  any  new  acquaint- 
ance. A  pleasant  picture  to  remember,  and  especi  ally  to  sit  in ! 
Will  you  take  another  cup?  Here  is  one  of  last  night's 
cigars." 

Lewis,  every  moment  sinking  more  under  the  charm  of  his 
host's  geniality,  gazed  with  admiratio.n. 

He  was  growing  talkative  himself  when  their  tete-a-tete 
was  abruptly  disturbed. 

A  waiter  came  up  with  a  rather  dirty  card,  and  asked 
whether  this  was  the  gentleman's  name?  *'For,"  said  he, 
"two  Herren  Studenten  were  without  and  anxious  to  see  the 
gentleman." 

Lewis  recognized  his  own  card.  Throwing  it  back  on  the 
salver,  **Ye8,  that  is  my  name.  Show  the  gentlemen  to  a 
private  room,  and  say  T  shall  attend  to  them.  How  silly  of 
me  to  give  them  my  card!" 

"So  ^ey  have  really  come  with  the  challenge,"  said  Fargus. 
"You  are  not  going  to  take  it  up  ?" 

"If  I  had  not  given  them  my  card,  T  certainly  should  not 
trouble  myself  much  about  the  fellows." 


The  "Comment"  of  Honor.  113 

"It  is  absurd.  And  it  further  appears  to  me  that  I  am  the 
rig'ht  person  to  speak  to  these  youths." 

"Oh,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  you  could  be  ac- 
commodated with  a  duel  also!  Such  creatures  are  simply 
insatiable  of  honorable  quarrels.  And,  by  the  way,  I  should 
not  wonder  if  it  was  the  appearance  of  that  scar  on  your 
face,  sir,  which  made  them  think  of  you  as  a  person  addicted 
to  that  sort  of  amusement.  But,  even  were  you  to  dream 
of  favoring  them  in  that  preposterous  manner,  you  must  not 
think  that  it  would  release  me  from  my  liability;  the  chal- 
lenge was  addressed  to  me  personally." 

There  was  a  fairly  long  pause. 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Fargus,  suddenly  bending  forward  to 
smile  into  the  thoughtful  eyes. 

Lewis  laughed,  but  with  a  slight  embarrassment.  I  am 
almost  prompted  to  ask  you  for  another  favor." 

"If  it  is  feasible,  it  is  done,"  was  the  simple  answer. 

"It  is  a  favor  which,  among  Englishmen,  one  would  hesi- 
tate to  ask  of  one's  best  and  oldest  friend.  It  would  take  me 
out  of  a  fix  if  you  had  no  objection  to  be  my  second." 

"Why,  of  course;  and  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  chastise  the  fellow,  I  hope." 

They  both  laughed,  Lewis  with  a  rising  spirit  and  a  certain 
pleasurable  excitement. 

"That  is  wonderfully  good  of  you.  These  students  would 
be  proud  if  they  knew  who  it  was  that  condescends  so  far  to 
patronize  their  tinsel  chivalry.  I  shall  not  betray  your  in- 
cognito, of  course,  but  mean  nevertheless  to  be  worthy  of  my 
second.  And  now,"  said  the  young  man  gayly,  "I  must  go 
and  interview  the  gentlemen.    Would  you  care  to  be  present?" 

Fargus  emptied  his  glass  and  followed  in  silence. 

When  they  entered  the  private  room  the  two  Germans  rose 
solemnly,  and  the  ceremonial  b^an. 

After  the  exchange  of  bows,  precise  on  the  German  side, 
sket-chy  on  the  English,  Fargus  sat  down  and  surveyed  the 
scene  with  critical  eyes.  Lewis,  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  leaned  against  the  high  china-stove  and  waited. 

One  of  the  visitors,  who  would  have  been  handsome  under 
rational  conditions  of  life,  whose  features  were  almost  ob- 
literated by  the  whit«  puffiness  and  the  interlacing  scars 
which  proclaimed  to  the  world  his  untiring  devotion  to  beer 
and  honor  laws,  advanced,  halted,  closed  his  heels,  braced  his 
knees,  made  another  bow,  and  observed : 

^'Herr  Kerr,  of  the  English  army?  Lieutenant,  I  pre- 
sume?" 

Lewis  nodded  assent, 

"Herr  Lieutenant,  I  have  the  honor  to  introduce  myself: 


114  The  "  Comment "  of  Honor* 

Karl  von  Ploss."  He  placed  a  card  on  the  table,  whereupon 
ensued  a  third  exchange  of  bows.  "I  have  also  the  honor  to 
present  my  companion,  Herr  Ulrich  Meyerhoffer,  candidat 
philosoph." 

The  philosophical  candidate,  a  square,  squat  individual, 
came  forward  and  likewise  saluted. 

Then  proceedings  came  to  a  standstill;  the  two  academic 
persons  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  sofa,  and  Lewis  recol- 
lected himself. 

"Mr. — ah — Ferguson?"  with  an  inquiring  glance  which 
Fargus  returned  acceptingly.  "Allow  me  to  introduce  Herr 
von  Ploss  and  Herr  Meyerhoffer.  Meine  Herren,  I  present 
Mr.  Ferguson,  my  friend.  Now  we  ought  to  know  each 
other,"  he  went  on  in  English,  with  an  irrepressible  boyish 
wink. 

"Herr  Lieutenant,"  said  the  first  student,  with  increased 
severity,  "we  are  sent  by  Herr  Graf  von  Lowenstein  to  ask 
whether  you  will  revoke  the  expressions  you  made  use  of  when 
addressing  him  last  night." 

"Indeed!"  returned  Lewis,  affecting  surprise.  "Is  that 
all  ?  You  may  tell  Graf  von  Lowenstein  that  I  will  do  noth- 
ing of  the  kind." 

The  German  bowed  again. 

"When  and  how  will  it  then  please  you  to  meet  the  Count? 
We  are  only  passing  through  the  town." 

"As  I,  too,  am  only  a  visitor  here,  I  should  say  the  sooner 
the  better.  Shall  it  be  to-morrow  morning.  But  since  I  am 
willing  so  far  to  honor  Count  von  Lowenstein  as  to  meet  him 
on  account  of  his  own  unwarrantable  behavior  last  night,  I 
shall  insist  on  two  or  three  conditions.  As  the  challenged 
party  and  as  a  stranger  on  your  land,  I  have  the  right  to 
stipiilate  my  own  convenience." 

The  student,  rather  taken  aback,  acquiesced. 

"Being  a  soldier  and  not  a  corps-student,  I  take  no  pride 
in  scars  cheaply  earned  on  the  Mensur,"  with  an  unequivocal 
glance  at  his  interlocutor's  scarred  and  furrowed  countenace. 
"I,  therefore,  decline  to  fight  with  scratching  rapiers  and  in 
mattresses." 

Herr  von  Ploss  flushed  violently  to  the  roots  of  his  pale, 
plastered  hair.  "What  do  you  say  to  sabers,  then  ?"  trjdng  to 
hide  his  anger  tmder  a  sneer.  "Officers,  even  English,  can 
have  no  objection  to  using  their  swords." 
^  "Sabers,  by  all  means,"  retorted  Lewis,  with  great  delibera- 
tion; "I  have  not  the  slightest  objection  to  meeting  your 
principal  with  them — ^without  active  seconds,  of  course.  I 
have  one  more  condition  to  make :  your  side  must  undertake 
the  management  of  every  detail  concerning  the  encounter. 


The  *'  Comment"  of  Honor.  115 

You  are  experts  in  such  matters,  while  my  only  friend  here  is, 
like  me,  a  stranger." 

The  ambassadors  retired  to  a  comer  for  a  rapid  consulta- 
tion, exercised  in  their  minds  to  find  a  mannerless  outlander 
ready  in  matters  of  honorable  difference.  "Nil  admirari" 
is  one  of  the  canons  of  gentlemanly  behavior  in  their  order, 
and  they  allowed  no  word  or  look  to  betray  their  feelings. 

Lewis  exchanged  a  friendly  look  with  Fargus,  who  ap- 
preciated the  authoritative  manner  in  which  his  son  had  as- 
sumed the  conduct  of  affairs. 

"You  seem  to  be  as  much  at  home  in  German  disputations 
as  these  fellows,"  he  remarked;  "how  do  you  know  the  lan- 
^age  so  well?" 

"I  spent  two  Semesters  here  during  my  undergraduate 
days,  and  have  kept  it  up  with  a  view  to  the  Staff  College." 

"Herr  Lieutenant,  we  have  agreed,  unless  you  should  have 
objection,  that  the  duel  shall  take  place  in  a  certain  inclosed 
field  behind  the  Philosopher's  Walk.  You  know  the  Philo- 
sophen  Weg?" 

"I  do,"  said  Lewis  shortly. 

"We  will  bring  the  necessary  attendants  and  the  doctor. 
I  am  Graf  von  Lowenstein's  second.  Herr  Meyerhoffer  is 
umpire.  Yonder  gentleman  is  to  be  your  second.  Is  this 
understood  ?" 

"Quite,"  replied  the  Englishman,  and  the  deputation  with- 
drew. 

"Is  not  this  idiotic?"  laughed  Lewis.  "Can  you  conceive 
how  level-headed  people  like  the  Germans  cannot  only  toler- 
ate, but  be  proud  of,  the  peculiar  ethics  of  the  corps-student  ? 
For  if  one  broaches  the  subject  of  the  'Dufll'  with  them, 
they  have  scores  of  reasons  in  its  favor." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  returned  Fargus,  "that  the  chief  result 
of  that  tender  solicitude  for  their  honor  is  to  turn  your  corps- 
student  into  a  highly  objectionable  rowdy." 

"Oh,  I  must  admit  you  have  seen  a  bad  specimen.  Most 
corps-students  are  gentlemen." 

"You  have  had  no  practical  experience?  Are  you  any- 
thing of  a  swordsman  ?"  asked  Fargus. 

"I  am  reckoned  rather  good  at  that,"  replied  the  young 
man.  "Our  last  colonel  ranked  sword  exercise  next  only  to 
riding  in  importance.  I  have  had  some  practice  also  in  Ger- 
man play.  I  think  it  would  not  be  amiss  were  I  to  put  my 
hand  in  again.  Have  you  a  mind  to  walk  with  me  as  far  as 
the  fencing-room?" 

There  was  no  trace  of  last  night's  depression  left  on  Lewis. 
Fargus  felt  almost  disposed  to  rejoice  at  a  cause  which  had  pro- 
duced such  results. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"alt   HEIDELBERG,   DU   FEINE,  DU   STADT   AN  EHBE  REICH." 

"You  are  a  good  swordsman.  I  am  glad  of  that,"  repeate<l 
Fargus,  musingly.  "How  do  you  come  to  be  a  fencer  ?  Most 
of  your  countrymen  now  look  upon  sciwitific  fencing  as  au 
un-English  pursuit." 

"That  is  a  John  Bullish  idea  which  is  fast  disappearing 
from  the  army.  In  olden  days  we  had  the  best  broadswords- 
men  in  Europe.  With  me  sword-play  of  every  description 
has  always  been  a  special  taste;  I  began  to  cultivate  the 
science  at  the  early  age  of  twelve.  I  was  brought  up  by  my 
Spanish  grandparents,  partly  at  Seville,  where  I  was  bom, 
partly  in  an  old,  very  dilapidated  family  place  they  had,  near 
Eonda — a  sort  of  half  castle,  half  farm,  where  we  used  to 
pass  the  summer.  There  was  a  large  loft  in  one  of  the  towers, 
where  old  rusty  odds  and  ends  of  arms  and  armor  and  torn 
books  were  stuffed  away — a  favorite  haunt  of  mine,  whither 
one  day  my  grandfather  traced  me  unawares,  to  find  me  prac- 
ticing by  myself.  It  seems  he  watched  me  with  delight,  as  I 
pinked  and  hacked  the  back  of  a  fine  old  Cordova  leather 
arm-chair  in  the  true  orthodox  style.  The  old  man  was  so 
pleased  with  what  he  considered  an  innate  taste  for  gentle- 
manly accomplishments  that  he  engaged  a  man  from  Seville 
to  give  me  lessons.  Dear  old  unsophisticated  grandfather!" 
Lewis  continued.  "He  little  thought  what  a  deal  of  trouble 
it  would  give  me,  in  after  days,  to  unlearn  all  the  antiquated 
passes  and  tricks.  It  was  the  same  with  my  riding.  It  was 
old  General  Woldham  who  initiated  me  to  the  easy  comfort — 
to  man  and  beast — of  a  hunting-seat.  Good  old  soul !  he  was 
much  kinder  to  me  than  my  ov7n  kin!" 

"I  liked  what  I  saw  of  him,"  said  Fargus.  He  had  been 
greedily  taking  in  every  word  which  unveiled  his  son's  past, 
and  his  pleasure  in  him  grew  as  he  listened ;  but  it  was  almost 
with  a  sense  of  jealousy  that  he  heard  of  all  those  who  had 
taken  the  father's  place,  and  among  whom  was  divided  that 
gratitude  which  might  have  been  centered  on  him. 

"Please  forgive  my  garrulity,"  cried  Lewis,  with  a  quick 
blush.  "You  should  not  have  let  me  go  on  prosing  about 
myself.  Here  is  the  University  Fencing  School.  I  hope  this 
does  not  bore  you." 

"I  have  neither  found  you  garrulous  nor  tiresome,"  re- 
sponded Fargus  warmly;  "and  I  am  prepared  to  derive  much 


"Alt  Heidelberg.^  117 

interest  in  watching  you  wield  the  saber.  Do  you  lead  the 
way." 

Being  vacation-time,  the  Fechtboden  seemed  deserted. 
There  was  none  of  that  busy  uproar  of  clinking,  rasping 
blades  in  opposition,  of  thuds  loudly  sounding  on  padded 
arms,  of  monotonous  commands,  varied  at  intervals  by  high- 
pitched  words  of  encouragement  or  objurgation;  which  in 
term-time  proclaims  academical  activity. 

Lewis  rang,  and  sent  his  card  to  summon  the  master. 

This  jovial  personage,  to  while  away  the  hours,  had  evidently 
been  solacing  himself,  in  the  company  of  congenial  spirits, 
with  a  deep  after-dinner  draught  of  Bavarian,  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  his  shirt-sleeves. 

The  man  of  the  sword  at  once  recognized  an  old  pupil,  of 
many  years  back,  and  was  much  delighted,  from  a  professional 
and  artistic  point  of  view,  when  he  learned  the  immediate 
cause  of  the  call. 

He  introduced  the  visitors  into  a  large  room,  the  vaulted 
ceiling  of  which  was  supported  by  pillars. 

"Well,  Herr  Kerr,"  cried  the  master,  after  suiting  his  vis- 
itor with  saber,  arm-guard  and  helmet,  "I  hope  you  have  not 
quite  forgotten  our  old  lessons  in  echt  Deutsch  fighting. 
Now,  take  your  measure;  on  guard — ^good;  straighten  your 
arm  and  brace  your  knee  more — ^good ;  and  now  beware  of  the 
Manchette. 

"Remember,  Herr  Kerr,  that,  among  us,  the  dictates  of 
manly  honor  prohibit  any  retreating;  the  left  foot  remains 
firm,  as  by  the  measure.  Cut,  parry,  or  countertime  if  you 
like,  redouble,  always  give  and  take;  but  never  stop,  hesitate, 
fall  back,  or  retire  the  body,  after  your  foreign  custom.  That 
is  not  correct  here.  Now  straight  the  arm,  brace  the  knee, 
hard  with  the  thumb.  And,  Herr  Kerr,  remember  the  Man- 
chette." 

A  flicking  cut  over  the  young  man's  guard,  which  sounded 
grimly  on  the  gauntlet,  emphasized  the  caution. 

Fargus  watched  with  satisfaction.  Lewis'  play  was  sharp, 
decisive,  and  neat — severe,  as  one  conversant  with  the  schools 
would  have  called  it — and  he  was  in  fair  condition ;  the  mas- 
ter, on  the  other  hand,  although  naturally  superior  in  point 
of  hits,  breathed  stertorously  after  ten  minutes'  play,  and  per- 
spired to  confusion. 

"You  must  also  beware  of  lunging  too  wide,  worthy  sir,"  he 
remarked,  coming  with  evident  relief  to  a  standstill,  and  mop- 
ping his  good-humored  face ;  "you  might  find  it  dangerous  on 
the  grass.  When  is  it  to  be;  with  whom?  You  know,"  he 
added,  "with  one  of  the  profession  such  things  are  honorably 
safe." 


1x8  "Alt  Heidelberg.*^ 

At  the  mention  of  the  name,  however,  the  jovial  lanista  was 
unable  to  suppress  a  whistling  ejaculation,  and  a  transient 
look  of  concern  shadowed  his  rubicund  visage. 

"Graf  von  Lowenstein,  of  Munich!  Donnerwetter,  Herr 
Kerr,  for  your  first  di:^l  you  have  found  a  right  doughty  oppon- 
ent! Well,  you  must  not  tire  your  arm.  This  will  suffice 
for  to-day.  You  will  do;  you  have  improved  since  you  used 
to  come  here.  Now,  my  last  counsel:  keep  your  hand  warm 
before  coming  on  the  ground ;  a  thick  glove,  for  instance,  will 
keep  your  wrist  subtle — such  details  have  decided  the  fate  of 
many  an  encounter." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Krummer  Sabel,  as  a  sport?" 
inquired  Lewis  of  the  Colonel. 

"I  know  so  little  about  it.  We  in  America  trust  more  to 
lead  than  to  steel.  All  this  appeared  very  scientific;  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  a  young  man  should  make  more  use  of  his 
legs." 

"That  is  the  very  essence  of  the  echt  Deutsch  play — every 
cut  is  to  be  stopped  with  the  blade.  Here  they  look  upon  all 
dodging  and  springing  as  derogatory  to  a  gentleman." 

"A  likely  explanation,"  said  Fargus,  smiling;  "though  it 
seems  rather  absurd  that  people  who  are  not  walking  beer- 
barrels  should  be  expected  to  forego  their  natural  advantages. 
At  this  well-regulated  game  there  is  little  danger  of  severe 
cuts." 

"Oh,  the  German  saber  can  wound  with  quite  sufficient 
severity,  as  we  shall  perhaps  see  to-morrow.  And  this  re- 
minds me  that  the  authorities,  although  they  wink  at  the 
Mensur  in  a  way  almost  equivalent  to  licensing,  punish  all 
other  forms  of  duelling  with  fortress  imprisonment,  when  they 
can  lay  their  hands  on  the  actors." 

Fargus  strove  to  conceal  his  concern.  The  expression  of 
the  master's  face,  his  ejaculation  on  hearing  the  name  of  the 
adversary,  haunted  him. 

"They  would  not  imprison  a  stranger,  challenged  by  a 
native !" 

"I  rather  fancy  they  would,  and  be  only  too  delighted  to  get 
the  chance.  This  reminds  me,  that  since  you  are  so  good  as 
to  stand  by  me,  it  would  be  better  to  make  your  preparations 
for  leaving  early  to-morrow.  These  people  recognize  no  dis- 
tinction between  seconds  and  principals.  I  should  have  told 
you  of  this  sooner.    Did  you  contemplate  stopping  long  ?" 

"No ;  I  am  as  free  as  possible,  and  have  not  the  least  anxiety 
as  regards  the  fortress  business — for  myself,  that  is;  but  what 
if  you  should  be  wounded?" 

"There  is  little  about  my  pocketing  something  in  the  scrim- 
mage.   If  there  is  a  redeeming  point  in  this  whole  foolery  it 


"Alt  Heidelberg."  119 

is  the  unflinching  pluck  of  the  corpsmen.  They  will  do  their 
best  to  keep  everything  secret,  for  their  own  sakes ;  and  I  have 
no  fear  but  that  I  can  either  be  hidden  up  somewhere,  or  able 
to  make  'tracks.'  I  shall  get  ready  to  be  off  early  to-morrow; 
my  business  and  I  have  to  return  to  England." 

"Listen,  my  young  friend,"  said  Fargus,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "I  am  sorry,  now,  to  have  countenanced  the  affair; 
if  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  not  leave  you  till  you  are  through 
it.  Meanwhile,  you  had  better  make  my  hotel  your  head- 
quarters." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad,"  said  Lewis,  "and  am  much  obliged 
for  your  kindness.     Now,  what  shall  we  do — ^walk  about  ?" 

"Anywhere  you  like,"  answered  the  American.  "I  shall 
enjoy  the  stroll  in  your  company.  I  should  congratulate  my- 
self on  our  chance  meeting,  did  I  not  feel  I  have  been  the 
cause  of  bringing  this  unpleasant  affair  upon  you !" 

Lewis  walked  on  in  silence ;  then,  with  some  hesitation : 

"I  am  nothing  if  not  indebted  to  you.  Colonel.  Should 
matters  prove  serious — though  it  would  be  affectation  to  inti- 
mate that  there  is  any  great  danger  of  that — I  should  still  have 
reason  to  be  glad  of  your  appearance.  I  believe  you  have 
saved  me  from  what  would  have  been  far  worse.  Owing  to 
the  utter  destruction  of  hopes  I  had  cherished  for  years,  I  felt 
last  night  as  if  the  springs  of  my  life  were  broken.  The 
thought  of  self-destruction  was  gaining  the  mastery  over  me. 
Your  company  did  me  good.  Though,  naturally,  at  the  time 
I  should  have  preferred  being  alone,  it  was  a  very  black  spell 
that  you  broke." 

Fargus'  mind  wandered  back  to  the  old  days^when  he,  too, 
had  known  the  grim  fascination. 

"I  would  not  presume  to  moralize,"  he  said ;  "but  I  am  glad 
the  spell  is  broken.  Never  allow  yourself  to  become  familiar 
with  the  demon  of  self-destruction." 

"Never  fear.  Indeed,  I  feel  now  quite  ashamed  of  my 
mawkishness.  I  have  no  mind  to  desert  my  post  in  this 
world,"  he  suggested,  changing  the  subject ;  "shall  we  turn  in 
this  direction?"  And  he  led  his  companion  along  a  narrow 
lane  which  wound  its  abrupt,  pebble-paved  way  up  the  flank 
of  the  Castle  hill.  "This  town  is  full  of  reminiscences  for 
me." 

Fargus  assented  willingly.  Little  conversation  was  at- 
tempted until  they  reached  the  terrace  gardens  of  a  well- 
known  tavern. 

There  for  a  time,  standing  by  the  parapet,  he  seemed  lost 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  smiling  panorama  shimmering  in 
the  hot,  sunny  air  beneath  him.  The  gray-brown  roofs  of 
Heidelberg  spread  in  length  between  th©  hillside  and  the 


120  "Alt  Heidelberg." 

strand  where  the  Neckar  lazily  rolled  its  yellow  course,  with 
now  and  then  a  mild  foaming  over  shallows  or  weirs.  Be- 
yond, the  mellowing  vineyards  to  the  south  merged  into  the 
pine-clad  slopes. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said,  sitting  down  on  the  corner  of  a 
table  under  a  tree,  and  still  looking  wistfully  out  across  the 
land,  "to  see  so  little  change  in  the  old  scenes,  when  we  have 
changed  so  much." 

"Dear  me !"  said  Fargus,  sitting  down  in  his  turn,  as,  with 
a  flourish,  the  waitress  placed  on  the  table  before  them  two 
tall  glasses  of  amber  beer  brimming  over,  "have  you  changed 
so  much  since  your  student  days  ?    How  long  ago  may  it  be  ?" 

"It  is  seven  years  since  I  sat  in  this  very  place,  not  a  very 
long  time,  but  the  cycle  required,  as  the  physiologist  tells  us, 
to  renovate  every  atom  of  man's  physical  being.  And  it  seems 
to  be  much  the  same  with  the  mind,"  he  added. 

"You  talk  like  an  old  man,"  put  in  Fargus,  willing  to  humor 
his  companion  in  a  vein  most  likely  to  lead  to  personal  mat- 
ters. 

"I  do  not  know.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  final  change, 
which  really  constitutes  old  age,  is  one  of  indifference,  that 
with  it  comes  a  greater  state  of  serenity — a  soothing  sense 
that  the  battle  of  life,  whether  lost  or  won,  is  over — that  the 
days  of  eagerness  are  too  remote  even  to  be  regretted." 

He  drank  half  the  contents  of  his  frothy  beaker,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"This  is  good.  I  saw  you  smile  indulgently  when  I  spoke 
of  disappointment.  Have  you  not  found  most  of  the  rungs 
in  the  ladder  of  life  more  or  less  a  disappointment  ?  Is  it  not 
a  fact  that  whenever  you  are  brought  back  to  the  feelings  of 
old  times,  you  awaken  to  the  discrepancy  between  anticipa- 
tion and  reality  ?  We  look  to  the  moment  when  we  shall  have 
achieved  cherished  objects  of  ambition — ^meanwhile,  the  very 
contemplation  of  a  desired  future  robs  what  might  be  an  ad- 
mirable present  of  its  real  savor.  When  the  achievement  has 
taken  place,  why  is  it  that  we  then  look  back  with  unavowed 
melancholy  to  the  period  of  our  illusions?  For,  when  it  has 
been  secured,  the  slowly  achieved  position  has  lost  its  satisfac- 
tion, our  pleasure  has  been  blunted  by  the  gradual  process." 

Lewis  halted,  lost  in  reverie,  and  Fargus  watched  him. 

"This  is  a  curiously  contemplative  frame  of  mind  for  a  sun- 
burned dragoon,  just  home  from  the  wars !  It  would  seem  as 
though  this  German  drink  had  infected  you  with  the  dreami- 
ness peculiar  to  the  lank-haired  German  student." 

Lewis  came  back  from  his  distant  thoughts  and  smiled. 

**You  are  right,  Colonel;  I  was  again  living  in  the  days 
when  discussion  took  more  willingly  a  contemplative  turn 


"Alt  Heidelberg."  I2i 

than  it  would  in  the  ante-room  of  a  cavalry  mess;  but  this  re- 
turn to  bygone  haunts  has  brought  back  the  past  days.  Did 
you  chance  to  meet  Charles  Hillyard  at  Woldham?" 

"A  handsome,  pale  university  lecturer?"  asked  Fargus. 

"The  same.    Did  you  see  much  of  him  there  ?" 

"Not  very  much;  the  little  I  did  I  found  interesting." 

"There  was  one  of  my  disappointments,"  Lewis  went  on.  "I 
wonder  if  it  is  he  who  has  changed,  or  I  ?  In  the  old  days  he 
was  one  of  my  stars.  There  is  very  little  I  would  not  have  done 
for  him.  We  had  a  room  in  common  under  that  mossy  roof 
yonder.  He  was  a  good  German  scholar  and  I  was  a  poor  one. 
We  were  inseparable.  This  tree  was  our  rallying  point  for 
the  morning  draught.  Before  going,  would  you  like  to  see  a 
students'  Kneipe?     Ours,  the  Carolina,  used  to  be  here." 

They  emptied  their  glasses  and  moved  toward  the  house. 

A  few  words  to  the  landlord,  who  soon  recognized  one  of 
his  former  patrons,  induced  him  to  open  the  sacred  precincts 
of  the  Carolina,  which,  it  being  vacation-time,  now  rested  in 
darkness. 

A  long,  rather  narrow  room,  warmly  lighted  by  stained 
glass  windows,  the  rich  colored,  but  highly  incorrect,  heraldic 
panes  of  which  brightened  the  severely  solid  furniture.  A 
ponderous  oak  table,  much  rubbed  and  dented  by  endless 
courses  of  disciplined  compotation,  crossed  at  the  honor  end 
by  another,  smaller  and  slightly  raised;  two  formal  rows  of 
hard  carved  wood  chairs,  and  a  dignified  presidential  throne. 
On  the  table,  between  a  couple  of  drinking-horns,  elaborately 
archaic  and  unwieldy,  a  heavy  wooden  tobacco  casket.  A 
large  special  panel  fixed  to  the  wall  was  devoted  to  the  heavy 
china  pipes  of  the  members,  almost  every  one  of  which  was 
inscribed  to  its  owner  by  a  brother  Carolinian;  over  this 
hung  a  trophy  of  flags,  devices,  and  club  colors,  emphasized  by 
a  pair  of  crossed  rapiers.  Numerous  photographs  of  indi- 
viduals or  groups  dotted  the  walls.  To  one  of  these  Lewis 
straightway  drew  near. 

"There  we  are  still!"  he  called  out,  pointing  to  a  group 
which  showed  the  Carolinians  in  a  forest  excursion,  seated  or 
standing  in  various  picturesque  attitudes  round  a  very  prom- 
inent beer-barrel,  each  man  holding  his  covered  glass  or  his 
long  pipe  in  one  hand  and  with  the  other  clasping,  in  pointedly 
devoted  manner,  some  special  comrade  by  the  shoulder  or  the 
arm. 

"What  a  ridiculous  pair  we  did  look!"  laughed  Lewis; 
"though  no  worse  than  the  others,  of  course.  And  yet  we  did 
meet  here,  almost  every  day :  and  Hillyard — Tipp — was  actu- 
ally the  soul  of  our  parties,  though  he  worked  eight  hours  a 
day  and  accumulated  knowledge  without  ever  talking'  abo\it  it. 


122    "Passes,  Finctures  and  Countertime." 

I  used  often  to  think  of  the  contrast  between  the  student  of 
Heidelberg  and  the  University  lecturer,  when,  on  our  return 
to  college,  I  watched  him  from  the  body  of  the  hall,  dining 
at  the  high  table — grave,  reverend,  as  befits  a  Don,  and  no 
doubt  talking  unimpeachable  sense.  Now  there  no  longer 
seems  to  be  such  enviable  superiority  on  his  side.  I  regret 
our  old  relations<^ 

Talking  in  this  strain,  they  sallied  forth  again,  toward  the 
pine  woods.  Fargus,  who  felt  his  curiosity  increase,  led  him 
gradually  on.  And  a  delight  it  was  to  the  father  to  hear  the 
story  of  his  eon's  assimilation  to  England  and  things  of  Eng- 
land, at  a  time  when  a  boy's  character  and  tastes  are  already 
formed ;  to  hear  how  he  struggles  and  the  unhappy  sensitive- 
ness of  the  first  years  gradually  gave  place  to  the  pleasures  of 
independence  and  of  well-earned  success.  And  it  stirred  him 
strangely  to  leam  how  strong  the  love  of  his  father's  country 
had  grown  in  the  boy's  heart. 

They  spent  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  in  an  invigorat- 
ing walk  through  the  peaceful,  romantic  scenery  of  the 
Neekarthal.  Occasionally,  Fargus  found  himself  led  out  of 
his  depth  on  literary  excursions.  But  he  enjoyed  the  converse 
perhaps  the  more  for  the  contrast  between  what  he  had  the 
right  to  have  expected  in  his  son  and  what  he  actually  found. 

And  by  the  time  the  sky  had  grown  purple  and  golden  over 
the  pine-bristling  hills  and  they  were  tramping  homeward, 
the  mutual  sympathy  had  ripened  on  each  side  into  genuine 
appreciation. 

And  thus,  at  the  end  of  the  first  day  spent  together,  Far- 
gus, filled  with  warm  and  proud  satisfaction,  hardly  knew 
what  he  liked  best  in  his  newly-found  son,  the  manly,  soldier- 
like bearing,  or  the  scholarly  refinement. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"passes,  finctures,  and  countertime." 

Lewis  slept  soundly,  with  rambling  dreams  of  old  times. 

Fargus  spent  the  night  in  wakeful  cogitations,  and  at  dawn 
arose  and  made  ready  for  the  eventful  morning.  When  the 
first  stir  of  life  in  the  house  became  evident,  he  summoned 
a  servant  and  ordered  a  substantial  breakfast;  then  he  aroused 
his  neighbor. 

"Everything  is  in  full  swing,"  he  said  briskly,  as  Lewis  put 
in  his  head  at  the  door;  "we  have  a  couple  of  hours  before 
us;  make  haste,  that  we  may  start  early  and  have  time  for  a. 


"  Passes,  Finctures  and  Countertime."   123 

walk  before  your  fencing  bout;  it  will  invigorate  you  and  put 
your  circulation  in  order." 

The  tmtidy  brown  head  disappeared;  in  due  course  Lewis 
emerged  from  his  chamber  as  neat  and  trim  and  generally  pol- 
ished as  beseems  an  English  officer  of  dragoons. 

After  a  leisurely  meal,  and  armed  with  a  couple  of  cigars 
from  Fargus'  case,  they  sallied  forth  into  the  freshness  of  the 
morning.  The  father's  sole  thought  being  now  to  keep  Lewis 
in  his  present  collected  and  cheerful  mood,  he  allowed  no 
trace  of  his  own  misgivings  to  api)ear  in  look  or  word. 

"What  a  delicious  day !"  said  he,  as  they  swimg  along.  "In 
face  of  scenery  like  this,  under  such  a  sky,  does  not  the  errand 
on  which  we  are  bound  seem  incongruous  ?" 

"Yes;  the  surroundings  are  more  suggestive  of  an  aubade 
than  a  trial  by  battle,"  said  Lewis. 

"Well,"  he  resumed,  "I  should  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of 
such  an  enterprise  a  few  days  ago;  but  now,  somehow,  I  rather 
enjoy  the  excitement." 

They  crossed  the  Neckar  bridge  and  ascended  the  right  bank 
of  the  river,  discussing  as  they  went  the  question  of  single 
combat;  first,  the  institution  as  it  now  exists,  then  from  a 
historical  and  ethical  point  of  view. 

"It  seems  to  me  almost  inconceivable,"  he  remarked  at 
length,  "that,  with  such  a  very  well-digested  system  of  opin- 
ions, you  should  now  find  yourself  on  the  way  to  put  your 
honor  to  the  test  of  fencing  skill." 

"Oh,  Colonel,"  put  in  Lewis,  "do  not  believe  that  I  con- 
sider my  'honor'  engaged  in  the  least.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of 
convenience.  I  do  not  hold  with  the  gentlemen  who,  by  the 
way,  I  now  hear  are  coming  up  behind  us — a  man's  honor  to 
be  such  a  delicate,  fragile  entity  that  death  or  murder  is 
preferable  to  the  risk  of  its  being  doubted  by  the  first  bully. 
Far  less  do  I  believe  that  there  is  only  one  kind  of  honor, 
namely,  a  constant  readiness  to  stake  one's  body,  in  good 
mediaeval  fashion,  in  support  of  a  position  assumed  rightly  or 
wr/)ngly.  For  the  most  curious  thing  about  the  'point  of  honor' 
among  upholders  of  the  duel  is  that  it  applies  to  physical  cour- 
age only,  never  to  the  moral.  As  for  these  persons  whom  we 
are  to  meet  this  morning,  they  have  even  more  curious  tenets 
on  this  subject  than  other  Continentals;  unlike  us  who  hold  a 
gentleman  to  possess  courage  as  a  simple  matter  of  course  until 
he  give  proof  to  the  contrary,  they  refuse  to  believe  in  the 
fortitude  of  any  one  who  has  not  earned  his  credentials  in 
that  ridiculous  institution  of  theirs — the  Mensur.  I,  however, 
did  a  foolish  thing,  in  a  moment  of  mental  obfuscation,  in 
giving  my  regimental  card.     But  do  not  believe  that  I  should 


124   "  Passes,  Finctures  and  Countertime." 

have  considered  my  honor  attainted  had  I  chosen  to  decline 
the  encounter." 

As  they  turned  to  ascend  the  Hirschgasse — the  lane  cele- 
brated for  leading  to  the  time-honored  tavern  where  are  held, 
at  regular  intervals  during  the  session-time,  so  many  glorious 
and  gory  arbitraments — they  were  overtaken  by  a  carriage; 
therein  the  three  corpsmen,  lolling  back  at  ease,  together  with 
a  bearded  and  spectacled  •  personage,  presumably  the  doctor. 
Next  to  the  driver  sat  a  "factotum,"  no  doubt  well  practiced 
in  such  expeditions. 

The  four  occupants,  as  they  rattled  past,  gravely  raised 
their  hats  without  turning  their  heads. 

"I  am  convinced  these  men  think  it  very  'bad  form'  of  us 
not  to  have  driven  here  in  state,  as  they  do.  True,  it  looks  as 
if  we  felt  sure  that  we  shall  not  require  a  conveyance  back." 
Lewis  spoke  gayly.  "Still,"  he  continued,  "it  might  perhaps 
have  been  wiser  to  have  one.  Now,  should  I  be  disabled,  I 
shall  have  to  be  deposited  in  that  tavern  yonder,  where  you 
may  this  moment  see  pompous  Herr  Meyerhoffer  entering 
with  the  servant — in  quest  of  the  weapons,  I  suppose," 

"Please  God,  we  shall  be  under  no  necessity  of  that  kind." 

But  Lewis  laughed  at  his  companion's  serious  look.  His 
spirits  rose  perceptibly  as  the  moment  approached;  indeed, 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  place  of  combat,  nothing  but  the 
necessity  of  keeping  up  British  decorum  and  a  cool,  gentle- 
manly carriage  could  subdue  a  rising  sense  of  jauntiness. 

The  whole  "duel  company"  now  moved  together  along  a  by- 
path which,  winding  for  a  short  while  through  the  birchwood, 
led  to  a  well-secluded  glade.  There  the  Englishman  and  his 
second  retired  apart  for  a  last  few  words,  while  the  natives 
proceeded  to  make  their  final  arrangements.  The  factotum 
flew  hither  and  thither,  carrying  water  and  a  basin  to  the 
doctor,  who  was  spreading  his  instruments  and  bandages  in 
engaging  array  on  the  stump  of  a  tree;  opening  the  case  of 
swords;  removing  with  febrile  activity  stones  and  fallen 
branches  from  the  spot  chosen  by  the  umpire. 

Seeing  his  opponent  stripping  himself  to  the  waist,  Lewis 
very  cooly  began  to  do  likewise. 

"Business-like,  is  it  not?"  he  remarked,  with  an  amused 
smile,  to  Fargus,  as  the  latter  silently  helped  him. 

"A  business  I  wish  were  well  over,"  thought  the  father,  yet 
trying  to  respond  with  confident  ease,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
well-knit,  close-muscled  frame  revealed,  and  inwardly  cursing 
the  pragmatic  fooling  which  was  bringing  it  into  jeopardy. 

At  this  point  the  umpire  came  up  to  them,  and,  touching  his 
cap  coldly,  remarked: 

"We  are  ready." 


"Passes,  Finctures  and  Countertime,"  125 

The  count  had  already  assumed  the  two  protective  bandages 
which  German  custom  prescribes,  even  for  the  more  severe 
saber  duels,  one  to  the  elbow  and  the  other  to  the  arm-pit. 
The  factotum  had  taken  his  post  as  look-out  man  on  a  slight 
knoll  whence  a  view  could  be  had  of  all  approaches.  Seeing 
that  he  alone  was  waited  for,  and  not  wishing  to  appear  a 
laggard  at  the  fray,  Lewis  was  about  to  advance  somewhat 
hurriedly,  when  the  student  stopped  him.  "I  perceive  you 
are  without  the  requisite  bindings,"  he  said,  a  trifle  impera- 
tively ;  "we  cannot  allow  you  to  proceed  thus.  As  the  gentle- 
man with  you  is  a  stranger,  I  will  have  the  honor,  if  you  will 
so  have  it,  to  arrange  them  myself." 

The  Englishman  surrendered  his  arm  with  courteous  thanks, 
and  the  neglect  was  quickly  repaired. 

Fargus  had  to  own  that  he  was  by  far  from  being  as  cool  as 
his  boy,  and  was  chafing  under  the  obligation  to  remain 
passive.  Why  had  he  not  taken  up  this  quarrel  himself  ?  He 
might  have  settled  that  self-sufficient  swashbuckler  with  an 
ounce  of  lead,  and  thought  less  about  the  matter  than  of  see- 
ing his  brawny  boy  lose  a  drop  of  blood.  Ah,  well!  the  die 
was  cast.     God  help  the  good  champion ! 

The  fever  of  fight  had  come  upon  Lewis  as  he  took  up  and 
balanced  the  wide-hilted  saber  presented  to  him.  The  cool 
breeze  fanning  his  bare  arm  and  breast,  and  the  "responsive" 
weight  of  the  well-mounted  saber,  sharp  as  a  carving-knife, 
heightened  that  muscular  sense.  There  was  naught  in  him 
to  recall  the  dreamy  philosopher's  mood.  But,  for  all  this 
nervous  tension,  he  appeared,  as  Fargus  noticed  with  much 
approval,  the  very  picture  of  self-possession  as  he  stood  to 
meet  his  foe. 

It  was,  of  course,  his  first  encounter  of  the  kind;  whereas 
the  pale,  fat  Graf — a  notorious  duelist — had  gone  through  the 
experience  many  a  time  and  at  many  a  weapon. 

They  advanced  toward  each  other  on  the  selected  spot, 
the  German  with  studied  coolness,  even  indolence — the  Eng- 
lishman with  quiet  deliberation,  strangely  at  variance  with  his 
gleaming  eyes.  The  seconds  placed  themselves  on  either  side. 
There  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  nothing  was  heard 
but  the  rustling  of  the  trees  and  the  chirp  of  birds.  The 
umpire  rapidly  ascertained  that  every  detail  was  correct,  then 
clear  rose  his  voice : 

"Engage;  are  you  ready? — go!" 

The  last  word  was  no  sooner  out  than  the  corpsman,  waking 
up  as  if  by  magic  from  his  deceptive  impassiveness,  with  the 
speed  of  lightning  darted  two  of  those  flicks  from  the  wrist 
which  are  so  characteristic  of  German  sword-play  at  his  op- 
ponent's forearm. 


126  ^*!^asses,  Pmctufes  and  Countertlme.** 

Had  not  the  latter  at  that  moment  instinctively  dropped 
into  his  more  familiar  hanging  guard — when  the  brunt  of  the 
cut  was  taken  up  by  the  convexity  of  the  hilt — ^he  would  \in- 
doubtedly  have  been  disabled  from  the  very  outset.  As  mat- 
ters turned  out  the  extreme  end  of  the  curved  blade  reached 
his  arm,  and  inflicted  thereon  a  small  cross-shaped  wound. 
Beware  of  the  manchettel  the  old  master  had  warned  him 
truly. 

"Halt!"  shrieked  the  umpire;  and  the  combatants  dropped 
their  hands,  while  the  doctor  examined  the  cut,  in  spite  of 
Lewis'  impatient  protestations,  only,  however,  to  pronounce 
it  of  no  consequence,  and  give  permission  for  the  resuming  of 
the  engagement. 

The  student's  white  face  had  remained  as  expressionless  as 
a  mask,  but  Lewis'  anger  was  roused  by  this  humiliating  hit 
at  the  very  first  pass.  With  burning  eyes  and  compressed  lips 
he  now,  once  more,  and  this  time  deliberately,  assumed  his 
English  guard,  and,  at  the  word  of  command,  led  off  himself 
with  such  vigor  as  to  frustrate,  by  forcing  his  opponent  to 
use  strong  parries,  all  further  attempt  to  score  points  by  in- 
sidious flipping. 

And  now  it  became  a  fight,  indeed !  The  German,  firm  as  a 
rock,  stopped  and  returned  Lewis'  fast-lashing  cuts  with  the 
most  admirable  coolness  and  precision.  Some  twenty  throws 
had  thus  been  exchanged  when  the  umpire's  shrill  command 
again  resounded : 

"Halt!" 

On  Lewis'  bare  chest,  extending  from  the  left  shoulder  to 
the  right  breast,  appeared  a  thin  red  line;  this  rapidly 
widened,  and  numberless  slender  rivulets  of  blood  presently 
began  to  descend  in  interlacing  stripes. 

Fargus  came  forward,  deadly  pale;  Lewis  glanced  down 
at  the  wound  with  a  careless  smile,  intent  only  on  trying  to 
hide  his  mortification. 

"Merely  a  scratch.  Colonel — nothing  of  any  consequence!" 

And  the  surgeon's  verdict,  after  inspection,  being  that  the 
wound  was  not  disabling,  the  pair  started  off  once  more. 

This  time  both  seemed  to  have  lost  their  coolness.  The 
bout  was  short.  After  a  moment  of  dead  silence,  during  which 
each  fixed  the  other  with  a  glaring  eye,  and  gripped  his  sword 
with  twitching  hand,  Lewis  suddenly  launched  forward  a 
swinging,  English  cut  at  his  opponent's  body,  and  the  latter, 
taken  aback  by  his  full  lunge,  rarely  risked  in  German  play, 
forgot  all  his  caution,  and  attempted  a  counterline.  The 
result  of  these  unpreconcerted  methods  of  fence  was  disastrous. 

Fargus  saw  Lewis'  blade  bury  itself  deeply  in  his  an- 
tagonist's bare  flank ;  but  the  cry  of  triumph  which  well-nigh 


"Passes,  Finctures  and  Countertime."  127 

escaped  his  lips  turned  to  an  exclamation  of  dismay.  His 
son's  face  was  laid  open  from  the  temple  to  the  chin.  The 
unfortunate  German  dropi)ed  his  sward,  staggered,  clutched 
the  air,  and  finally  collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  ground,  rolling 
partly  over,  and  then  lying  motionless,  and  to  all  appearance 
dead,  save  for  a  slight  twitching  of  mouth  and  eyelid.  Star- 
ing in  horror  at  the  ghastly  sight  of  his  handiwork,  Lewis 
stood  as  if  spell-bound — all  unconscious  of  being  himself  far 
more  horrible  to  behold  with  his  cloven  cheek  gaping  hideous- 
ly, his  right  arm  and  hand,  his  body  down  to  the  waist,  by  this 
time  scarlet  with  streaming  blood.  Then  he  reeled  suddenly, 
and,  in  his  turn,  would  have  fallen,  but  for  Fargus,  who,  rush- 
ing forward,  seized  him  firmly  under  the  arm  and  conducted 
hira  to  the  doctor's  tree-stump,  on  which,  disposing  with  one 
sweep  of  the  hand  of  its  array  of  instruments,  he  gently 
pressed  him  down. 

"Thank  God!  this  is  over,"  said  the  elder  man  with  a  dry 
throat ;  beads  of  cold  sweat  shone  on  his  forehead.  "How  you 
are  bleeding,  poor  boy,"  attempting  with  a  handkerchief  to 
hold  together  the  lips  of  the  face-wound.  Lewis  looked  up, 
dimly  struck  by  the  affectionate,  almost  paternal,  tone  of  his 
new  friend's  voice,  but  for  the  moment  unable  to  speak.  "Let 
me  see,"  continued  Fargus ;  "the  arm  is  nothing,  the  chest  not 
much — yet  how  terrible  it  might  have  been !  The  face-cut  is 
bad,  though.  Will  these  fellows  never  attend  to  you?"  he 
went  on,  angrily  looking  round;  "what  are  they  all  crowding 
over  that  brute  for  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  he  is  worse  than  I  am,"  said  Lewis,  faintly  and 
indistinctly,  for,  the  wound  rapidly  stiffening,  he  could  not 
move  his  lips  without  painful  efforts. 

"Do  not  attempt  to  talk.  Hold  this  tight;  I  will  go  and 
see." 

At  that  moment,  however,  the  doctor  came  toward  them. 

"A  bad  business,"  he  said,  significantly  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

"What !  dead  ?"  cried  the  amateur,  aghast  at  his  success. 

"Not  yet,  but We  have  not  heard  the  last  of  this  affair. 

And  now,  what  about  you?"  he  added,  lifting  the  handker- 
chief. "Hum !  a  fine  high-quart — six  needles  or  more."  And 
without  further  parley  he  proceeded  first  briskly  to  sew  up 
the  open  cheek,  then  to  wash  and  bind  the  other  slashes. 

As  he  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  his  artistic 
arrangements  of  lint  and  sparadrap,  the  servant  on  the  look- 
out was  heard  to  give  a  low  cry  of  warning,  and  presently  a 
man  rushed  through  the  creaking  underwood  into  the  glade. 
What  he  had  to  communicate  was  evidently  of  importance,  for 
they  at  once  called  the  servant  back,  and  the  four  men  held  an 


128  Wanderings. 

animated  consultation,  at  the  end  of  which  he  who  had  acted 
as  umpire  walked  up  to  Fargus. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  coldly  saluting,  "it  will  not  be  safe  for  you 
to  return  to  your  hotel.  A  messenger  has  just  been  sent  by  a 
friend  in  the  town  to  warn  us  that  the  police  have  found  out 
something  about  this  duel,  and  are  on  the  watch  for  our  re- 
turn." 

This  speech  delivered,  the  Germans  took  no  more  notice  of 
the  adverse  party  than  if  they  had  not  been,  but,  gathering 
round  the  doctor,  fell  to  discussing  the  possibility  of  removing 
their  unconscious  principal  to  some  place  of  safety. 

Lewis  translated  the  allocution,  and  held  a  council  of  war. 

"We  cannot  go  back — if  he  dies  .  .  .  fortress  for  us; 
five  years  perhaps — for  both  of  us." 

"What  is  to  be  done?"  asked  Fargus.  "Can  those  fellows 
advise  us?" 

"They  are  even  in  worse  plight,  and  not  well  disposed 
toward  us.  Only  plan  I  can  think  of :  find  our  way  to  some 
railway-station  as  soon  as  possible.  Must  walk,  too,"  he 
added,  having  paused  to  reflect  a  while. 

"But,  my  dear  boy,  how  far  can  you  walk  in  this  state? 
Can  you  walk  at  all  ?" 

"Must.  I  know  the  country.  To-day  to  Schoenau,  behind 
that  hill.  Let  me  take  your  arm — weak  on  my  legs — better 
presently." 

And  without  casting  a  glance  behind,  the  father  supporting 
his  son  in  tenderest  solicitude,  they  walked  slowly  away  from 
that  nefarious  "field  of  honor" — even  as  the  students'  party, 
carrying  the  inert  form  of  their  companion,  were  silently 
leaving  it  in  the  opposite  direction. 


CHAPTEE  Xn. 

WANDERINGS. 

For  three  long  hours  the  two  men  tramped  onward,  in  wind- 
ing lanes,  through  mysteriously  somber  pine-woods,  now  on 
the  highroad  between  the  vineyards  of  the  warm  hillsides. 
But  their  circtunstances  were  little  conducive  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  scenery. 

Manfully  did  Lewis  settle  down  to  his  task  of  covering  the 
twelve  miles  or  more  to  Weinheim,  though  every  step  throbbed 
responsive  through  each  of  the  six  needles  which  held  his  face 
together,  and  every  beat  of  the  slow  pulse  to  that  low,  gnaw- 
ing ache  in  the  heart  which  loss  of  blood  engenders. 


Wanderin  gs,  129 

Full  of  solicitude,  ever  rising  and  ever  repressed  in  fear  of 
self-betrayal,  the  father  strove  to  while  away  the  heavy  time 
and  to  lighten  the  way  by  the  help  of  his  strong  arm. 

As  the  sun  ascended  and  the  air  waxed  sultry  the  calls  for 
Fargus'  brandy-flask  and  the  halts  grew  more  frequent;  and 
Fargus  felt  his  boy's  arm  lean  heavier  on  his. 

At  last,  after  one  of  these  halts  he  made  a  dead  stop  with 
trembling  knees. 

"You  will  think  me  a  coward;  I  can't  go  another  step;  I 
must  lie  down." 

"A  coward!  How  can  you  talk  so,  my  dear  fellow!  If  I 
told  you  what  I  really  think  of  you,  it  might  make  you  vain. 
No,  no;  you  cannot  lie  down  here  in  this  blazing  sun;  hold  up 
a  bit ;  hang  on  me  till  we  get  into  the  shade  yonder." 

But  Lewis  was  past  holding  up.  He  reeled  and  staggered, 
and  Fargus  had  almost  to  carry  him  under  the  spreading 
chestnut-tree  he  aimed  at,  which  shaded  a  little  oasis  of  cool, 
green  turf,  where  the  clear  waters  of  a  tiny  streamlet  sounded 
their  welcome  notes. 

With  a  groan  of  relief  the  wounded  man  let  himself  down 
at  full  length  in  the  shadow,  while  his  companion  moistened 
the  bandages,  noting  with  deep  anxiety  how  fast  they  seemed 
to  dry  up  again  under  the  heat  of  the  wounds. 

"How  sickening  to  have  to  give  up!   Ashamed  of  myself!" 

"Now,  do  not  fret,"  answered  the  elder  man,  pouring  from 
his  hat,  which  he  used  as  a  pitcher,  a  slender,  grateful  stream 
of  watei*  over  the  burning  head.  "You  have  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of.  It  is  the  earache  that  knocks  you  down,  isn't  it? 
Take  a  little  more  of  this  brandy-and-water,"  he  continued, 
after  holding  his  son's  hand-  for  a  moment  in  his,  and  sliding 
his  fingers  down  to  find  the  faint,  unequal  pulse.  "It  will  be 
easy  to  get  something  to  give  you  relief  as  soon  as  we  can  get 
to  a  civilized  place.  Meanwhile,  you  must  be  quiet,  and, 
above  all,  no  more  nonsense  and  fretting." 

Lewis  looked  up  with  a  sort  of  grateful  smile. 

Fargus  went  on.  "You  must  stop  here  quite  quietly  and 
rest,  while  I  make  off  to  the  nearest  village  and  get  a  convey- 
ance of  some  kind  or  other." 

A  short  half -hour  of  hard  walking  brought  him  to  a  village, 
which,  as  usual  in  Germany,  boasted  a  rather  promising-look- 
ing inn.  There,  in  default  of  any  knowledge  of  the  vernacu- 
lar, his  absolute  determination  to  make  himself  understood, 
backed  up  by  the  judicious  display  of  a  gold  coin,  stood  him  in 
good  stead. 

Fargus  stood  over  the  good-natured  innkeeper,  hurrying 
him  on,  by  gesture  and  personal  help,  till  they  drove  away 
at  the  fullest  speed  the  state  of  horse  and  vehicle  would  allow. 


130  Wanderings. 

With  a  leaping  heart  he  hailed  the  chestnut-tree  again,  and 
found  Lewis  an  object  of  solicitude  to  a  trio  of  swarthy  i>e&s- 
ants,  who  were  surveying  him  with  great  sympathy,  and  who, 
with  many  gutteral  expressions  of  good  will,  volunteered  to 
assist  him  into  the  carriage.  To  Fargus'  intense  relief,  the 
patient  seemed  somewhat  the  better  for  his  enforced  repose; 
and  when  he  had  installed  him  as  comfortably  as  possible  on 
the  cushions  of  the  ramshackle  chariot,  and  pulled  up  a  tat- 
tered hood  to  screen  him,  he  gave  the  order  for  Weinheim. 

Though  but  a  few  miles  distant,  it  seemed  an  endless  way. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  the  alighted  at  the  best  hostelry  in 
Weinheim.  Fargus  engaged  a  private  room  for  the  invalid, 
whose  condition  he  explained  to  the  English-speaking  waiter 
by  a  cooly  mendacious  account  of  a  fall  in  a  rocky  part  of  the 
woods  while  on  a  walking  expedition.  Having  seen  his  charge 
first  dispose  of  a  cup  of  broth  and  a  glass  of  the  best  wine, 
the  American  started  forth  to  prepare  the  way  for  their  next 
stage. 

Lewis  had  sketched  the  general  idea  of  the  retreat.  Fargus 
now  busied  himself  in  carrying  out  the  special  details. 

In  an  hour  he  returned,  provided  with  all  the  necessary  in- 
formation, and  accompanied  by  a  porter  laden  with  various 
indispensable  purchases ;  a  traveling-bag,  changes  of  linen,  a 
soft  felt  hat  for  the  bandaged  head,  a  straw  one  for  himself — 
selected  for  disguise — several  articles  of  pharmacy,  lint, 
bandages  and  so  forth.  Then  he  locked  himself  in  with  Lewis 
and  proceeded  to  minister  to  the  comforts  of  that  jaded  youth. 

But  it  was  with  dimly  grateful  sense  of  relief,  when 
cleansed  of  dried  blood  and  dust,  and  liixuriating  in  fresh 
linen,  that  he  found  himself  again  reclining  on  the  bed,  with 
cool  bandages  on  the  fevered  wounds.  The  latter  concluded 
his  preparations  with  all  the  expedition,  noiselessness  and 
method  of  a  professional,  packing  all  the  necessaries  for  the 
forthcoming  journey. 

When  the  time  drew  nigh  for  their  departure,  he  came  up 
to  the  bedside  and  gently  roused  his  companion, 

"My  boy,  all  our  arrangements  are  made.  We  start  this 
evening  ostensibly  for  Darmstadt,  but  really  for  Brussels.  I 
think  it  safer  to  cover  the  whole  journey  at  once,  since  out  of 
the  country  we  must.  The  more  I  contemplate  the  possibility 
of  a  prolonged  visit  to  a  fortress  at  the  Prussian  Government's 
expense,  the  less  I  like  it." 

"By  all  means  let  us  go,"  said  Lewis,  striving  to  conceal  by 
how  much  suffering  the  effort  was  accompanied. 

"We  shall  have  to  start  pretty  soon.  Can  you  stand  a  four- 
teen hours'  journey?" 

"Under  your  care  I  would  go  further,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 


Wanderings.  131 

"Eemember,  we  are  traveling  under  the  style  of  Messrs. 
Thomson.    You  are  my  son,  Robert  Thomson." 

As  Fargus  spoke  he  threw  a  curious,  wistful  glance  at 
Lewis,  but  as  it  was,  the  young  man's  energies  were  too  much 
centered  on  the  endeavor  to  carry  his  injured  frame  with 
some  kind  of  dignity  out  of  the  dangers  to  permit  any  waste 
of  strength  in  watching  the  outside  world.  With  a  mute  sign 
of  acquiescence  he  received  the  suggestion  and  slowly  dragged 
himself  out  of  the  room,  leaning  heavily  on  Fargus'  arm. 

After  a  short  while  the  sickness,  caused  by  the  change  from 
the  reclining  to  the  sitting  position,  passed  away,  the  transfer 
from  carriage  to  train  at  Weinheim,  as  well  as  that  from  one 
train  to  another  at  Darmstadt,  was  successfully  accomplished, 
as  much  owing  to  the  patient's  dogged  pluck  as  to  his  com- 
panion's long-sighted  care. 

As  police  directions,  started  by  the  Heidelberg  authorities, 
were  already  being  issued  for  their  aprehension,  Mr.  Thomson 
and  his  invalid  son,  in  a  specially  reserved  compartment,  were 
speeding  toward  Brussels,  via  Cologne.  But  the  father  only 
drew  breath  in  security  when,  on  the  following  morning,  they 
crossed  the  frontier. 

"Thank  God !"  he  murmured,  as  the  train  at  last  moved  off 
from  the  station  and  sped  on  Belgic  territory,  and  he  bent 
gently  forward  to  look  at  the  apparently  somnolent  form 
stretched  at  full  length  on  the  seat  opposite. 

As  he  now  glanced  at  the  half -averted  face  a  sudden  pallor 
overspread  his  own.  Even  as  he  looked,  a  heavy  shuddering 
passed  over  the  whole  body.  The  father  felt  his  heart  turn 
cold.  He  knew  the  terrible  menace  of  such  signs  even  before 
he  raised  the  dry,  twitching  hand  to  feel  the  wiry  beat  of  the 
pulse:  fever  had  set  in.  He  had  counted  on  his  boy's  unusual 
vigor  and  health,  without  taking  into  account  how  highly 
strung  his  nerves  had  been  by  mental  trouble  but  a  short  time 
before. 

But  David  Fargus  was  not  the  man  to  waste  his  energy  on 
vain  regrets.  After  altering  the  patient's  position,  pulling 
down  the  blinds,  opening  the  window  to  insure  air,  he  once 
more  took  a  seat  opposite  his  son,  and,  with  melancholy  look 
fixed  on  the  altered  face,  fell  to  considering  how  best  to  meet 
the  unexpected  emergency. 

He  could,  of  course,  stop  at  the  nearest  town  instead  of 
Brussels,  but,  while  only  saving  a  couple  of  hours,  he  would 
not  then  be  sure  of  obtaining  such  good  medical  attendance. 
And  Lewis'  life  might  now  depend  on  medical  skill.  Fargus 
determined  to  push  on  to  Brussels  if  possible.  At  Brussels 
matters  would  be  far  from  being  all  plain  sailing.  Burdened 
with  a  possibly  delirious  man  he  could  not  leave  for  a  minute, 


132  Wanderings. 

he  would  have  to  find  immediate  quarters,  and  to  have  to 
peregrinate  the  town  from  one  to  another  might  be  death  to 
his  boy. 

There  was  the  alternative  of  a  hospital.  In  England  he 
would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  take  the  sick  man  direct  to 
such  an  institution,  where  he  would  be  sure  of  receiving  the 
best  care.    Could  he  be  as  sure  in  a  Belgian  hospital  ? 

Fargus  resolved  not  to  let  him  out  of  his  own  keeping. 
What  gold  could  purchase  for  him,  gold  should  be  forthcom- 
ing for.  Luckily  he  had  provided  himself  with  plenty  of 
money,  and  he  could  do  no  more  than  hope  in  the  all-powerful 
persuasiveness  of  a  well-filled  purse. 

But  in  an  unexpected  way  the  difficulty  was  lightened.  At 
Liege,  just  as  the  train  was  moving  away,  a  burly  Belgian 
burst  open  the  door  and  tumbled  headlong  into  the  carriage, 
and  they  were  off  at  full  si)eed  before  he  could  perceive  that 
he  had  intruded  upon  a  reserved  compartment  and  an  invalid. 
When  he  did  so,  he  confounded  himself  in  apologies.  The  man 
had  a  pleasant,  open  countenance,  and  positively  radiated 
affluence,  good-nature  and  self-satisfaction.  He  looked  at 
Lewis,  prostrate  and  speechless,  with  sympathy,  clacking  his 
tongue  after  the  fashion  of  his  countrymen. 

Fargus  hailed  the  amiable  giant  as  a  possible  angel  of  suc- 
cor. In  a  few  words  he  explained  the  state  of  affairs,  and 
begged  him  to  suggest  some  hotel  where  they  could  be  re- 
ceived, and  the  most  skillful  doctor  known  in  Brussels. 

The  Fleming's  eyes  grew  rounder  as  he  listened,  and  his 
interest  in  the  traveling  Englishman  rose  to  a  pitch  of  excite- 
ment. Surveying  the  unconscious  hero  with  increasing  ad- 
miration, he  chuckled  or  groaned  alternately,  as  delight  over 
the  downfall  of  the  Teuton,  or  commiseration  over  the  sad 
plight  of  his  antagonist,  possessed  his  soul. 

When  Fargus  proffered  his  request,  he  cried  cheerily: 

"As  to  that  I  should  be  delighted  if  you  will  allow  me  to 
offer  you  the  hospitality  of  my  bachelor  quarters.  Here  is 
my  card,  sir" — fumbling  vigorously  in  a  waistcoat  pocket, 
which  his  rotundity  of  form  rendered  rather  difficult  of  ac- 
cess— "M.  Frederic  Bocage,  bon  bourgeois  et  Bruxellois,  at 
your  service.  Your  son  shall  receive  every  care.  I  shall 
have  the  house  kept  as  quiet  as  possible ;  but  you  understand, 
sir,  now  and  again  a  bachelor  establishment  may  be  rather 
noisy." 

"I  am  sincerely  grateful  for  your  kindness,"  said  Fargus, 
"but  if  you  knew  of  some  quiet  quarters,  where  we  could  have 
good  attendance  and  be  sure  of  being  undisturbed,  it  would 
be  better  in  every  way  we  should  remain  independent.  It  is 
only  as  a  last  resource,"  he  added,  smiling;,  "that  I  should 


Wanderings,  133 

dream  of  taking  advantage  of  your  most  hospitable  offer,  and 
bringing  the  trouble  of  such  a  serious  illness  into  your  house. 
I  cannot  be  mistaken ;  my  son  is  in  a  very  dangerous  state." 

M.  Bocage,  awed  by  the  dignity  of  manner  which  Fargus 
maintained,  did  not  press  the  invitation  further.  He  knew 
of  rooms  overlooking  the  Gardens,  close  to  his  own  house, 
where  he  had  no  doubt  they  would  be  received,  and  which  were 
comfortable,  large  and  airy. 

"If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  conduct  you  thither  and  go 
for  the  doctor — my  friend  Bertrand,  a  man  of  the  greatest 
ability ;  for  I  agree  with  you  your  son  looks  very  ill." 

The  Belgian  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  of  invaluable 
help  at  the  trying  juncture  of  their  arrival.  Lewis  was  in  a 
state  of  stupor,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  he  was  got  safely 
to  the  house  whither  M.  Bocage  brought  them,  and  where 
the  sight  of  his  visage  and  the  genial  authority  of  his  cheery 
voice  smoothed  over  the  landlady's  dubiousness.  Leaving  the 
father  to  see  to  the  patient,  he  bustled  off  in  quest  of  the 
physician. 

Having  undressed  his  son,  and  seen  him  stretched  between 
fresh  white  sheets,  with  iced  compresses  on  his  forehead,  Far- 
gus sat  down  by  the  bedside  to  wait  for  the  doctor,  whose 
arrival  was  promised  before  evening. 

Twilight  was  spreading  apace,  and  through  the  half -open 
window  came  a  glimpse  of  promised  sky,  in  marked  contrast 
with  the  darkness  and  repose  of  the  silent  room. 

It  was  exactly  a  week  since  he  had  left  the  Lone  Grange 
in  pursuit  of  his  unknown  boy;  only  four  days  since  he  had 
first  spoken  to  him ;  now  there  was  not  a  thought,  not  a  pros- 
pect in  his  life,  which  was  not  absolutely  encompassed  by  him. 
Had  he  known  him  and  loved  him  all  his  twenty-five  years 
of  existence,  helped  him,  trained  him  to  be  what  he  was — 
he  did  not  think  he  wotdd  feel  differently  now,  that  his 
anxiety  could  be  more  poignant,  or  his  tenderness  more  ex- 
quisitely keen. 

Fargus  gently  lifted  the  hand  that  lay  in  his  own — what 
a  strong  brown  hand  it  was !  how  doughtily  it  had  wielded  the 
sword  so  chivalrously  taken  up  in  defense  of  a  stranger! 
Lewis'  hand  was  a  little  large,  and  there,  straight  across  each 
strong  palm,  amid  the  inexplicable  and  generally  absolutely 
personal  designs,  ran  the  imusual,  unbroken,  transverse  line, 
held  with  pride  by  the  Kerr  family  to  be  a  special  character- 
istic of  their  race. 

There  came  a  pleasure  to  Fargus  each  time  he  succeeded 
in  tracing  some  likeness  to  himself  or  his  family  in  the  stran- 
ger son.  Beside  the  odd  way  in  which  the  latter  seemed  to  have 
reproduced  in  his  own  so  many  of  the  phases  of  his  father'f 


134  Wanderings. 

life,  there  were  a  number  of  unmistakable  and  interesting 
signs  of  hereditary  connection  about  him ;  something  in  the 
carriage  of  the  head  and  the  general  bearing  recalling  to  the 
self-made  American  the  personality  of  his  own  English  father ; 
such  family  traits  Fargus  had  looked  for  and  welcomed. 

The  smile  which  this  last  discovery  had  evoked  ended  in  a 
sigh.  To  have  ignored  him  till  his  brave  manhood,  to  have 
found  him  such  as  he  was — ^f or  there  was  not  one  point  so 
far  Fargus  would  have  wished  different  in  his  son — ^and  to 
lose  him,  perhaps,  after  all! 

Suddenly  the  sick  man  began  muttering  to  himself.  Then 
he  sat  up,  and  Fargus  could  see  him  staring  fixedly  before 
him.    Presently  he  spoke  again: 

"Hear  how  the  seconds  fly  I  I  shall  soon  be  there;  she  is 
waiting  for  me."  He  stretched  out  his  hand,  laid  it  on  the 
watch  which  ticked  on  the  table  beside  him.  "It  beats  with 
mine!  I  know  her  heart  beats  with  mine.  Maude,  I  have 
returned!  Where  is  she?"  The  words  became  indistinct 
again  and  died  away  in  confusion  on  his  pillows. 

Fargus,  with  a  heavy  heart,  lit  a  candle,  placed  the  watch 
where  it  could  no  longer  disturb  the  patient,  and  once  more 
applied  the  iced  bandages.  A  knock  at  the  front  door  and 
the  approach  of  a  firm,  quiet  tread  on  the  stairs  announced 
that  welcome  arrival. 

Hurrying  out  to  meet  him,  Fargus  arrested  the  new-comer 
on  the  landing  to  explain  the  patient's  state  and  the  history 
of  its  causes  with  all  possible  brevity,  after  which  he  intro- 
duced him  into  the  sick-room,  and  with  a  sad  nod  indicated 
the  bed  where  the  wounded  man  at  that  moment  again  started 
to  a  sitting  posture,  and,  bending  forward,  held  out  his 
clenched  right  hand,  with  thumb  extended,  as  though  grasp- 
ing a  sword. 

"There — there!  No?  Fll  get  at  you,  though."  A  terrific 
spring  would  have  thrown  him  upon  the  floor  but  for  the 
father's  detaining  grasp. 

The  doctor,  a  f  resh-complexioned  man  of  middle-age,  with 
a  thoughtful  bald  head  and  practiced  keenness  of  eye,  looked 
quickly  from  the  fevered  countenance  on  the  bed  to  the  pale 
one  bending  so  anxiously  forward. 

'TTour  son,  sir?"  he  asked,  as  he  drew  out  his  watch;  then, 
without  giving  time  for  a  reply:  "Needless  to  inquire;  the 
resemblance  speaks  for  itself. 

•'Yes;  traumatic  meningitis  I  fear,"  he  said  corroborative- 
ly;  then,  as  if  in  answer  to  a  sort  of  gray,  stricken  look 
upon  the  other's  face:  "Not  necessarily  fatal.  Your  son 
seems  to  have  a  strong  constitution — indeed,  by  your  ac- 
count, must  be  made  of  solid  material  to  have  done  what 


Wanderings.  135 

he  has  done  under  the  circumstances.  Of  course,  that  forced 
march  in  the  heat,  not  to  speak  of  the  careless,  insufficiently 
antiseptic  treatment  of  the  wounds,  is  sufficient  to  account 
for  the  present  state  of  things.  Much  will  depend  on  con- 
stant watchfulness.     You  must  have  a  professional  nurse." 

"No,  doctor;  I  mean  to  nurse  my  boy  myself." 

"Trained  nurses  are  best  in  cases  like  these.  Your  son  is 
delirious;  he  may  be  violent;  he  is  a  powerful  man." 

"I  have  experience  of  such  cases.     I  shall  manage  him." 

"But  you  will  have  to  watch  him  day  and  night;  it  is  too 
much  for  one  person." 

"I  shall  not  leave  him  day  or  night.  I  have  no  objection  to 
a  trained  helper,"  added  Fargus,  "and  shall  be  grateful  if 
you  can  send  one  over." 

On  the  doctor's  grave  face  there  crept  a  look  of  sym- 
pathy. 

"You  must  have  your  way,  I  see,"  he  said  with  a  tran- 
sient smile,  as  he  sat  down  to  write  his  prescription;  "and, 
on  the  whole,  it  may  be  your  son's  best  chance.  No  one 
ought  to  be  able  to  nurse  him  better  than  his  father." 

After  giving  directions  for  the  treatment,  promising  to 
send  a  hospital  attendant  and  to  call  early  in  the  morning, 
the  physician  took  his  leave. 

As  soon  as  he  had  dispatched  a  servant  for  the  medicines, 
Fargus  came  back  to  the  bedside. 

The  bright  eyes  opened  and  looked  at  him  with  intentness. 

"I  must  get  up,"  said  Lewis ;  "it  will  not  do  to  be  late  at  the 
rendezvous." 

With  gentle  force  the  nurse  pressed  him  down  again. 

"Lie  still,  my  boy — lie  still.     Rest  in  me." 

The  touch  of  the  father's  hands,  the  soft  earnestness  of  hia 
voice,  seemed  to  soothe  Lewis  for  a  moment. 

A  sudden  hope  sprang  into  life  within  Fargus'  breast.  He 
was  not  blind  to  the  danger  of  his  boy's  state,  and  knew  that 
few  recovered  from  this  terrible  disease.  But  his  boy  should 
not  die.  Fargus  remembered  the  influence  he  had  so 
strangely  exercised  over  him  at  their  first  meeting ;  it  actually 
seemed  as  if  this  power  would  stand  him  in  good  stead  now. 

And  day  and  night  for  a  whole  week  the  father  wrestled 
for  his  son's  life,  catching  the  merest  snatches  of  sleep  on 
his  chair  (always  holding  one  hot  hand  in  his).  It  was  evi- 
dent that  the  same  besetting  theme  haunted  the  poor  un- 
hinged brain  throughout.  Its  ravings  took  the  same  course 
day  after  day — eager,  restless  pursuit;  a  transient  ecstasy  of 
joy.  But  never,  even  in  his  most  violent  frenzy,  did  Far- 
gus' voice,  look  and  touch  fail  in  the  end  to  soothe  his  son. 
The  doctor  called  him  a  bom  nurse. 


136  Wanderings. 

One  morning,  while  Lewis  slept,  the  fever  fell.  Fargus, 
sitting  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  must  have  dropped  into  a 
doze.  He  was  startled  into  wakefulness  by  the  feeling  of 
the  patient's  hand  in  his.  It  was  no  longer  burning  with 
the  dry  heat*  but  blessedly  cool  and  moist. 

Softly  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  bent  over  the  sick  man. 
Lewis  was  sleeping  quietly,  with  light  regular  breathing,  and 
the  beard  was  dewed  with  perspiration. 

Fargus  had  kept  up  while  matters  were  at  the  worst  with- 
out unbending;  the  relief  shook  him  with  emotion.  He 
noislessly  walked  to  the  window  and  glanced  forth,  crying 
voicelessly  from  the  depths  of  his  swelling  heart,  "Thank 
God!" 

When  he  came  back  to  the  bedside,  Lewis,  awakened  by 
the  slight  noise,  opened  his  eyes  and  raised  them  to  his  face. 

"Colonel  Fargus,"  he  said,  in  a  very  weak,  weary  voice. 

"Yes,  my  dear  boy." 

"Have  I  been  ill?" 

"Very  ill,  for  more  than  a  week." 

Lewis  closed  his  eyes  again,  while  his  companion  measured 
out  some  medicine.     Then  with  slow  deliberation : 

"You  have  been  here  all  the  while  ?" 

**Yes,  of  course.     Drink  this." 

Lewis  obeyed,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"And  you  have  been  nursing  me?"  he  resumed,  after  swal- 
lowing the  mixture. 

"Why,  certainly,  Robert  Thompson;  don't  you  remember 
I  am  your  father?" 

The  patient  paused  to  gather  his  wandering  reminiscences. 

"I  remember,  we  were  going  to  Brussels;  are  we  there 
now?" 

"Yes ;  I  can  have  no  more  talking,  or  you  will  be  ill  again." 

The  young  man  was  mute  for  a  few  minutes,  then  the 
unconsciously  plaintive  voice  was  lifted  in  gentle  persistence : 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me." 

"Fathers  sometimes  are  to  their  sons." 

"Am  I  to  call  you  father,  then  ?"  with  another  feeble  smile. 

"Every  one  believes  us  to  be  father  and  son;  you  had  bet- 
ter do  so.  And  now  I  exercise  my  parental  authority  in 
ordering  you  to  silence  again,  and  if  possible  to  sleep." 

For  a  few  days  everything  went  smoothly.  Lewis,  at  first 
so  weak,  seemed  to  gain  strength  steadily.  He  slept  much 
and  ate  well,  and  appeared  to  enjoy  in  placidity  the  happiness 
of  retiiming  health. 

But  after  that  there  came  a  halt.  With  increasing  strength 
came  increased  mental  activity,  and  with  the  latter  depres- 
sion, loss  of  appetite — every  night  rising  temperature. 


Wanderings,  137 

The  doctor  owned  himself  puzzled.  Lewis  had  been  fever- 
ish, moody,  irritable,  and  evidently  in  pain,  and  had  at 
length  fallen  asleep  with  his  throbbing  head  between  his 
father's  hands. 

"I  cannot  make  it  out,"  said  the  physician.  "He  was  on 
as  fair  a  way  to  recovery  as  ever  I  saw.  The  inflammation 
is  over,  the  wounds  healing  fast ;  and  now  these  fever  symp- 
toms, this  renewal  of  suffering — above  all,  his  depression. 
.  .  .  If  we  do  not  take  care  we  shall  have  a  relapse,  and 
then —  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  there  may  be  some- 
thing weighing  on  his  mind?" 

"He  had  a  great  disappointment  just  before  this  illness." 

The  doctor  pondered.  He  had  grown  to  take  a  deep  extra- 
professional  interest  in  the  case,  and  had  an  admiration  for 
the  devoted  father;  he  did  not  mean  to  let  their  patient  slip 
through  his  fingers. 

"Can  you  do  nothing  to  remove  this  mental  worry  ?" 

Fargus  shook  his  head. 

"We  must  change  the  treatment,  rouse  him,  distract  his 
mind  and  make  it  work  in  different  channels.  We  shall  have 
him  up  to-morrow,  I  think.  A  little  fresh  air  will  do  him 
good.  Mr.  Thomson,  you  must  do  your  utmost  to  keep  your 
son  from  brooding.  Such  cases  sometimes  turn  into  melan- 
cholia." 

During  that  night  Fargus  watched  his  son — unknown  to 
the  latter.  As  he  heard  him  moan  and  toss  in  his  sleep,  or 
saw  him,  from  his  place  of  observation,  staring  with  wide- 
eyed  misery  into  space,  he  swore  to  himself  that,  if  human 
agency  could  encompass  it,  the  woman  whose  name  had  been 
with  such  unconscious  and  pathetic  frequency  upon  his  lips 
should  learn  to  love  him  as  he  deserved. 

What  could  be  her  reason  for  refusing  him?  she  who  had 
known  him  for  years.  And  how  he  loved  her !  In  those  de- 
lirious utterances  of  his,  what  a  wealth  of  tenderness  was 
there  betrayed!  what  a  devotion! 

Where  could  she  have  found  a  match  for  him? 

The  more  he  thought  the  more  convinced  the  father  be- 
came there  must  be  some  misunderstanding  at  the  bottom — 
that  Maude,  who  had  loved  his  boy  in  years  gone  by,  who 
had  seemed  so  heart-whole,  save  for  her  undisguised  prefer- 
ence for  her  old  comrade,  could  not  be  in  earnest  in  thus 
blighting  his  life.  Some  mischief-maker  might  have  come 
between  them,  and  Fargus'  brow  darkened — serene-faced 
Charlie,  who  wanted  her  for  himself,  perchance  ?  There  was 
a  task  for  the  father ;  it  was  well  he  had  returned  in  time  to 
unravel  the  plot. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
"a  bolt  from  the  blue." 

Toward  the  sunset  hour  of  the  next  day  Lewis  sat  on  the 
Iialcouy,  propped  with  pillows,  enjoying  the  evening  breeze. 
The  patient  had  been  declared  convalescent ;  the  change  from 
bed  to  armchair  seemed  to  have  been  successful.  There  was 
no  return  of  fever.  Fargus'  determination  to  keep  him  from 
brooding  had  been  so  delicately  manoeuvred,  it  was  impossible 
for  a  sweet-tempered  nature,  like  Lewis',  not  to  be  benefi- 
cently influenced  by  it. 

M.  Bocage,  who  had  kept  the  sick-room  supplied  with  fruit 
and  every  kind  of  delicacy,  had  begged  for  an  interview  to 
say  good-by  before  leaving  on  a  journey.  The  Belgian's 
jolly  presence,  hearty  laugh,  cheerful  conversation,  never  de- 
void of  mother-wit,  had  amfused  Lewis  and  shaken  him  out 
of  himself. 

The  day  had  passed  well;  matters  looked  promising  again 
to  Fargus. 

"It  is  cheerful  to  see  your  head  out  of  its  swaddling  bands." 

"By  the  way,"  interrupted  Lewis,  "did  I  rave  at  all  ?" 

"Of  course  you  raved,"  replied  Fargus.  "A  good  deal 
about  fighting,  as  far  as  I  could  make  out." 

Lewis  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  be  plagued  with  questions  about  this  face 
of  mine." 

"You  are  not,  I  hope,  thinking  of  returning  to  England 
too  soon.  It  will  take  you  some  time  to  recover  completely; 
remember,  it  has  been  a  touch-and-go  business  with  you." 

"I  should  like  to  get  back  in  a  week.  There  are  things  I 
must  see  to:  that  succession  so  unexpectedly  devolving  on 
me.  And  this  reminds  me,  by  the  way,  that  my  solicitors 
were  to  keep  me  acquainted  with  the  progress  of  affairs.  I 
wonder  if  they  have  written  to  Homburg." 

The  latter,  resolved  to  keep  the  conversation  off  the  un- 
fortunate topic,  answered  without  the  slightest  curiosity: 

"Shall  I  write  and  have  them  forwarded?" 

"That  would  be  good  of  you.  I  must  keep  myself  ac- 
quainted with  the  development  of  my  fortunes,  and  whether 
my  presence  is  required  over  the  water." 

"I  hope  it  is  not,"  said  Fargus,  forseeing  that  an  early 
return  might  put  a  stop  to  the  intimacy  which  had  grown  so 
precious.  "You  know,"  he  went  on,  "I  do  not  want  to  let 
you  out  of  my  supervision  until  you  are  really  restored." 


"A  Bolt  From  the  Blue."  139 

"Unless  it  be  quite  necessary,  I  have  no  -wish  to  move.  I 
have  no  superfluity  of  energy,  and  I  shall  inflict  my  company 
upon  you  as  long  as  you  will  tolerate  it.  The  debt  I  owe 
you  is  great  already,  yet  I  mean  to  eke  it  out  still  further." 

Part  of  the  pleasant  hour  was  allowed  to  glide  by  in 
silence,  as  they  watched  the  gorgeous  copper  sunset.  By- 
and-by  Lewis,  who  was  languidly  stretching  himself  in  his 
armchair,  went  on  again,  as  if  in  continuance  of  a  private 
strain  of  thought: 

"Convalescent  after  a  dangerous,  exhausting  illness  must 
be  a  delicious  period  when  there  is  no  canker  of  the  mind 
to  poison  every  thought  of  the  future." 

"That,"  said  Fargus,  in  a  quiet  authoritative  manner — 
"that  is  a  thing,  if  you  like,  that  I  will  not  tolerate.  Brood- 
ing is  an  indulgence  it  is  your  duty  to  deny  yoiirself.  You 
have  been  disappointed  in  one  direction,  in  a  matter  near 
your  heart,  as  you  said,  and  as,  indeed,  your  every  look  and 
word  betrays.  Do  not  think  I  have  no  sympathy  there;  I 
have  had  myself  at  least  one  such  experience  in  days  of 
old,  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  allowed  myself  to 
sink  deeper  than  you  under  the  discouragement.  But  man's 
fate  is  to  struggle  all  his  life  for  happiness.  And,  my  dear 
boy,  forgive  me  for  telling  you  that  it  is  unmanly  to  give 
up  the  struggle  because  a  particular  happiness  appears  un- 
attainable. To  a  fellow  like  you,  is  there  nothing  in  the 
world  but  a  woman's  love?" 

Lewis  looked  up  hastily,  but  Fargus  went  on  steadily,  never 
removing  his  firm,  kindly  gaze  from  his  son's  face : 

"I  know  it  is  a  woman  who  has  caused  this  sorrow.  I  may 
say  I  guess  who  she  is — is  there  nothing  else  in  life  to  look 
to?  Duty,  for  instance,  which  men  like  you  can  so  well 
fulfill ;  study,  which  one  of  your  attainments  should  prosecute 
to  ever  greater  extent;  fame  to  be  achieved  while  you  have 
still  the  spring  of  youth  within  you.  Such  things,  I  know, 
will  not  replace  the  love  that  is  lost;  but,  still,  they  are 
worth  living  for.  She  who  is  truly  loved  can  never  be  re- 
place, for  she  has  been  invested  in  our  eyes  with  every- 
thing we  look  for  in  woman.  But  it  behooves  a  man  to  re- 
main worthy  of  the  one  he  has  chosen,  although  he  may  have 
given  up  all  hope  of  winning  her.  I  would  not  even  urge 
you  to  try  and  forget.  You  have  much  that  you  cannot  lose 
— a  good  name,  a  past  honorable  achievement,  as  I  heard 
before  I  met  you,  and  in  attainments,  as  I  found  out  for 
myself.  Is  it  worthy  to  give  yourself  up  to  profitless  pin- 
ing?" 

Lewis  had  listened  with  a  dreamy  look. 

"You  are  right,"  he  answered  simply,  glancing  up  with  t 


I40  *'  A  Bolt  From  tlie  Blue." 

grateful  smile.  '^I  have  been  hard  hit;  all  I  can  undertake 
is  to  try.  It  is  good  of  you  to  speak  to  me  like  this.  For- 
give me  for  asking,  but  what  is  it  makes  you  take  such  in- 
terest in  me?  Why  are  you  so  kind?  Our  acquaintance  is 
of  short  standing ;  outside  events  have  made  it  intimate,  thus 
far  all  the  services  have  been  on  your  side." 

A  shade  came  over  Fargus'  face.  But  he  answered  with 
resolute  cheerfulness : 

"I  might  reply  that,  having  found  in  foreign  parts  a  pleas- 
ant companion,  I  naturally  learned  to  take  an  interest  in 
him.  But  when  I  find  in  that  companion  a  friend  of  friends, 
and  one  of  the  few  relatives  I  know  of  mine  in  England — 
for  my  family,  Mr.  Kerr,  is  a  distant  offshoot  of  yours — one 
whom  I  expect  to  see  much  of  later  as  a  country  neighbor, 
my  interest  in  him  becomes  even  less  wonderful.  Now  let 
us,  if  you  will,  come  to  an  agreement,  and  then  drop  the 
subject :  for  the  time  which  we  are  destined  to  spend  together, 
never  ask  me  why  I  wish  to  be  kind." 

Lewis  extended  his  hand  silently,  and  the  other  clasped  it 
with  warm  pressure. 

The  invalid  took  his  lecture  to  heart,  and  made  persistent 
efforts  to  respond  to  his  companion's  bracing  cheerfulness. 
The  latter  kept  the  tenor  of  the  conversation  on  vigorous 
subjects — army  matters,  travels,  adventures  and  sport,  the 
qualifications,  duties  and  responsibilities  of  a  landed  pro- 
prietor, and  all  other  topics  he  could  think  of  with  so  much 
tact  and  variety,  that  Lewis  never  suspected  he  was  being 
kept  in  intellectual  leading-strings. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after  that  evening  con- 
clave Lewis  was  in  his  room  dressing.  He  was  sitting  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  taking  a  rest  and  looking  more  placid  than  he 
had  ever  done  since  their  acquaintance,  when  Fargus  brought 
in  a  letter. 

"Just  the  one  I  expected,"  said  Lewis,  glancing  at  it.  "I 
dare  say  you  will  have  to  help  me  to  make  out  its  meaning. 
Jjegal  English  will  be  more  than  I  can  master  at  present." 

He  leisurely  opened  the  jenvelope,  while  Fargus  remarked, 
after  scanning  the  heavens,  that  it  would  be  a  perfect  day 
for  their  first  drive;  that  the  carriage  would  come  round  in 
an  hour. 

Receiving  no  response,  he  turned  round  to  find  his  son, 
with  ashen  lips,  staring,  as  if  in  petrified  amazement,  at  the 
open  letter.  Then  blood  suffused  the  young  man's  pale  face; 
he  started  to  his  feet  with  a  strangled  exclamation  of  anger, 
only  to  grow  white  again  and  stagger  back  with  a  sudden 
failing  of  strength. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  Fargus,  rushing  toward  him 


"  A  Bolt  From  the  Blue."  141 

and  seizing  his  hand,  which  was  cold  and  clammy.  "Here, 
take  some  brandy,"  hastily  pouring  a  little  in  a  glass  and 
forcing  it  to  his  lips. 

Lewis  drank  the  dram  and  seemed  to  recover  himself.  Put- 
ting Fargus  away  from  him  with  a  mechanical  sweep  of  his 
arm,  he  began  to  i)eruse  it  again  with  the  most  earnest  at- 
tention. 

After  a  little  while  Lewis  looked  up  with  dazed  eyes  and 
seemed  to  catch  sight  of  Fargus  for  the  first  time. 

"I  can't  make  it  out,  all  the  letters  jump  about  so.  Will 
you  please  read  it  to  me — slowly." 

With  a  vague  presentiment  of  evil  Fargus  picked  up  the 
letter. 

"  'From  Perkins  and  Stubbs,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Re 
Gilham  Estate.     Private  and  confidential.' 

"  'Dear  Sir  :  We  think  it  would  be  strongly  advisable  for 
you  to  return  to  England  as  soon  as  you  conveniently  can. 
Circumstances  have  come  to  our  knowledge  with  reference 
to  the  above  which  we  feel  certain  will  cause  you  as  much 
surprise  as  they  have  to  txs,  and  which  we  think  will  require 
your  immediate  attention. 

"  *Mr.  Charles  Hillyard  called  on  us  this  morning  to  ob- 
tain our  advice  on  the  question  of  heir-at-law  to  the  late 
William  Kerr  of  Gilham.  It  would  seem  that  he  is  in  posses- 
sion of  documents  which  he  strongly  believes  must  establish 
his  claim  to  the  succession,  by  entail,  over  your  head,  on  the 
plea    .    .    .'" 

The  steady  voice  faltered  as  the  meaning  of  the  words  was 
borne  in  upon  the  reader;  he  broke  off  with  a  deep  exclama- 
tion. 

There  was  a  silence.  Lewis  muttered  without  looking  up : 
"Go  on,  I  am  b^inning  to  understand.  I  must  hear  it  all." 
Fargus  clenched  his  fist.  It  was  a  rare  experience  for  him 
to  be  strongly  moved  by  anger.  But  an  almost  murderous 
fury  against  the  man  who  dared  to  cast  such  an  insult  at  his 
boy  shook  him  to  the  very  depths  of  his  being.  "Oh,  to  have 
him  by  the  throat,  kin  though  he  be,  within  the  grasp  of 
these  strong  hands !" 

"Please  go  on,"  said  Lewis  again. 

It  required  all  the  elder  man's  force  of  will  not  to  baferay 
himself  now.  With  a  wonderful  mastery  over  his  voice  he 
began  once  more,  glad  that  his  boy,  absorbed  in  his  own  tur- 
moil of  thoughts,  could  not  notice  the  change  which  he  felt 
on  his  own  face. 

**  *,    ,    ,    of  illegitimacy  on  your  wd«,    W9  had  to  inf orm 


142  "A  Bolt  From  the  Blue." 

Mr.  Hillyard  that  as  we  had  hitherto  always  acted  in  your 
interest,  and  especially  as  you  had  requested  us  on  the  death 
of  your  uncle,  previous  to  your  departure  abroad,  to  watch 
over  your  affairs,  we  could  not  undertake  to  act  for  him  in 
the  matter.  We  informed  him  we  should  communicate  with 
you.  We  gather  that  Mr.  Hillyard  is  anxious  to  come  to 
an  amicable  settlement  by  private  agreement.  More  infor- 
mation we  cannot  give  yoti,  as  Mr.  Hillyard  was  naturally 
very  reticent. 

"  'Hoping  to  hear  from  you  at  your  earliest  convenience, 

'''We  are,'  etc." 

He  read  on  to  the  end  without  faltering.  Here  was  a 
Nemesis  indeed!  The  sin  of  his  selfish  youth  had  found 
him  out  at  last. 

Who  would  believe  him  if,  as  a  last  resource,  to  prevent  a 
flagrant  injustice,  he  were  obliged  to  come  forward  and  tell 
the  true  history  of  David  Fergus  and  George  Kerr?  What 
a  train  of  miserable,  humiliating,  ridiculous  litigation,  if 
nothing  worse,  such  a  course  would  entail,  and  with  what 
slender  chance  of  victory!  And  if  it  failed,  how  ignomin- 
ious, how  dishonoring!  nothing  short  of  criminal  conspiracy 
in  the  eyes  of  judges  and  laymen,  between  two  men  hitherix) 
held  as  models  of  honor! 

"Thank  you,"  said  Lewis  in  a  loud  voice,  after  a  while, 
lifting  his  head  again  and  looking  at  his  companion. 

It  was  a  haggard,  drawn  face,  with  the  stamp  upon  it  of 
his  recent  fight  against  death;  but  the  father's  heart  swelled 
as  he  marked  the  look  of  proud  composure  it  now  bore. 

"Thank  you;  I  wish  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  leave  me 
to  myself  a  little.    I  must  think." 

Fargus,  with  a  sad  look,  was  about  to  comply  in  silence, 
when  Lewis,  struck  by  the  alteration  of  his  features,  caught 
at  his  hand. 

"Why,  you  seem  quite  upset  yourself !  Yon  are  very  good 
to  me." 

Fargus  wrung  his  hand. 

"You  mean  to  fight  it  out,  my  boy?" 

"To  the  last  penny  of  my  fortune,"  answered  Lewis. 

When  Fargus  returned  he  was  calmer  and  more  hopeful. 

Scanning  the  past  in  minutest  detail,  he  could  not  recol- 
lect anything,  save  the  tinfortunate  fact  of  his  reputed  sui- 
cide to  support  the  extraordinary  charge.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  position  his  son  had  always  had  In  the  Hillyard 
family,  his  nearest  relatives,  would  be  strong  presumptive 
evidence  in  his  favor;  that  none  of  them  had  doubted  his 
right  to  the  name  until  it  became  profitable  to  the  next-of- 


"  A  Bolt  From  tLe  Blue."  143 

kin  so  to  do — one  who  had  always  up  to  this  cheerfully 
claimed  cousinship  with  him — might  go  some  way  toward 
shaking  the  latter's  credit,  whatever  "proofs"  he  might  have 
collated  in  his  greed. 

It  was  balm  to  Fargus  to  see  his  boy  determined  to  take  up 
the  fight  for  his  own  and  his  father's  honor. 

When  he  came  back  to  Lewis'  room,  and  found  the  young 
man  bent  more  doggedly  than  ever  on  resistance,  more  sul- 
lenly fierce  against  the  treachery  that  cast  the  slur  upon  him, 
there  was  also  a  new  satisfaction.  The  shock  seemed  to  have 
had,  on  the  whole,  a  bracing  effect  upon  the  sick  man,  by  in- 
stilling a  healthy  combative  tone  into  the  brain.  There  was 
some  color  on  Lewis'  face;  he  walked  his  room  with  head 
more  erect  and  a  firmer  tread. 

"I  have  no  proofs  to  stake  against  Charlie's  documents, 
whatever  they  may  be — curse  him!"  he  cried,  stopping  in 
front  of  Fargus,  and  striking  the  letter  as  he  spoke.  "What 
proofs  can  a  man  have  whose  father  died  before  he  was  bom, 
whose  mother  died  in  giving  him  birth  ?  I  am  George  Kerr's 
son,  and  my  mother  was  as  pure  as  yours." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Fargus,  looking  deep  into  his  eyes. 

Lewis  was  too  much  comforted  to  notice  the  strangeness 
of  the  words. 

"Ah,  Colonel  Fargus!  what  should  I  do  without  you?  Yet 
I  have  no  right  to  weary  you." 

"Lewis,"  said  Fargus,  "you  are  my  fictitious  son,  remem- 
ber, so  forgive  this  familiarity,  and  I  do  not  conceal  from 
you  that  you  have  grown  dear  to  me  since  we  two  have  been 
thrown  together.  I  am  a  lonely  man — there  is  no  being  in 
this  whole  world  that  David  Fargus  can  claim  kindred  with — 
and  you,  not  so  desolate,  stand  likewise  somewhat  strangely 
dependent  upon  yourself.  Let  me  see  you  through  this  new 
trouble.  I  have  a  cool  head  and  a  free  one,  while  you  must 
not  overtax  yours,  as  yet,  and  a  man  will  require  all  hia 
wits  to  unravel  Master  Hillyard's  tangle." 

Lewis*  hesitating  expression  vanished  under  the  deep  sym- 
pathy. 

"You  heap  benefits  upon  me.  I  can  not  refuse  the  offer 
of  your  help  and  friendship  at  such  a  moment.  You  are 
right.  Colonel  Fargus:  I  am  alone  in  the  world — ^utterly 
alone.  I  thought  I  had  lost  so  much,  I  had  at  least  a  trusty 
friend  left.     What  a  fool  thing  he  has  turned  out  to  be !" 

"Perhaps."  suggested  Fargus,  "we  are  making  moimtains 
out  of  mole-hills." 

"I  have  no  doubt  it  is  trumpery,"  said  Lewis  abstractedly; 
"but  clever  trumpery,  coming  from  that  quarter;  and  trum- 
pery carefully  elaborated  in  the  dark  may  be  difficult  to  dis- 


144  "A  Bolt  From  the  Blue.'* 

prove.  I  believe  I  had  lost  everything  when — ^when  we  first 
met.  Now  I  find  I  had  still  to  lose  the  only  real  friend  I 
ever  made.  In  your  case,  the  kindness  has  been  all  on  your 
side.  Charlie  and  I  were  chirms  for  years.  Curse  that  suc- 
cession, it  has  lost  me  my  old  comrade,  and  may  now  lose  me 
my  name — ^the  name  I  have  been  so  proud  of. 

"Now  I  understand  the  change  I  found  in  Charles  when 
I  met  him,  though  he  tried  to  blind  me  to  it.  Let  him  look 
out;  I  have  a  greater  stake  than  he:  he  fights  for  money,  I 
for  my  name." 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  room. 

After  a  painful  spell  of  cogitation,  Lewis  spoke  again: 

"Yes,  I  will  fight  it  out,  were  it  only  for  my  dead  mother's 
sake.    I  must  retiirn  to  London  as  soon  as  possible." 

"I  cannot  think  of  letting  you  travel  for  several  days. 
Correspond  with  your  lawyer  from  here.  Write  to-day,  stat- 
ing your  determination,  announcing  your  return  for  next 
week.     Shall  I  pen  it,  and  you  will  sign  ?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Lewis,  after  consideration;  "I  shall  re- 
quire strength  and  all  the  wits  I  possess  to  fight  a  man  like 
Charlie — amicable  settlement,  forsooth!  It  makes  me  sick 
at  heart  to  think  of  the  fellow  I  had  placed  on  such  a  pedes- 
tal plotting  against  me  above-board,  since  he,  who  was  the 
first  to  announce  to  me  the  turn  affairs  had  taken  at  Gilham, 
never  gave  me  the  slightest  hint  of  his  intention  to  try  and 
ruin  me — ^worse  than  ruin  me!  I  don't  feel  very  strongly 
about  the  estate,  but  I  will  not  have  my  mother's  good  fame 
sullied.  And,  above  all,  I  will  not  have  my  father's  name 
taken  away  from  me.  I  never  knew  him;  but  my  grand- 
father, and,  later  on,  my  father's  sister,  taught  me  to  be  proud 
of  him;  and  pride  in  my  name  has  become  a  sort  of  religion 
with  me.  I  will  tell  you  some  day  all  I  know  about  them — 
meanwhile,  you  must  help  me  to  get  strong  again.  I  am  not 
yet  fit  to  undertake  business." 

"No,"  said  Fargus,  with  renewed  concern;  "to-day  is  de- 
voted to  fresh  air,  and  I  hear  the  carriage  at  the  door.  We 
shall  be  back  in  time  to  write  to  London." 

During  this  constant  companionship  Fargus  had  ample 
opportunity  to  learn  more  about  his  son's  affairs,  and,  inci- 
dentally, something  about  those  of  his  other  relations. 

The  father,  as  soon  almost  as  he  had  read  the  letter  of  ill 
news,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  here  was  the  clew — 
here  the  reason  oi  Maude's  incomprehensible  repudiation  of 
her  old  love.  Charles  Hillyard  had  remained  at  Gilham;  he 
was  to  have  dined  at  Woldham  the  very  night  of  the  funeral ; 
as  the  elder  man  remembered  now  he  must  have  been  quick 
indeed  to  work  his  evil  purpose  for  the  news  to  have  reached 


Dea  Ex  MacHna.  145 

Maude  so  soon.  Yet  it  was  like  the  general's  impetuosity, 
more  especially  if  artfully  worked  upon,  to  lose  not  a  second 
to  write  in  warning  to  his  darling. 

Meanwhile  Lewis,  on  his  side,  had  drifted  toward  deeper 
suspicion  of  him.  Was  it  not  possible,  even  probable,  that 
Charlie — since  he  was  capable  of  double-dealing  at  all — might 
have  played  him  false  in  other  quarters?  The  strange  dis- 
covery on  the  night  of  their  meeting  had  forced  a  portentous 
confession  out  of  him.  Since  he  could  lie  at  all,  he  might 
have  lied  about  Maude — ay,  and  to  her! 

The  more  Lewis  thought  of  her  sudden  coldness — that  cold- 
ness tempered  with  compassion  which  had  struck  him  as  so 
hopeless — the  more  he  came  to  fancy  he  saw  through  it  the 
handiwork  of  his  false  friend. 

And  thus,  contrary  to  Fargus'  first  misgivings,  the  shock 
of  this  bad  news  did  not  retard  the  progress  of  recovery. 
Day  by  day  the  doctor  was  able  to  report  progress,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  week  felt  justified  in  sanctioning  the  return  home. 

"I  can  only  offer  you  a  little  room  in  an  old,  rather  dilapi- 
dated Inn,"  said  Lewis,  while  his  face  brightened  at  the 
prospect  with  a  look  of  pleasure;  "but  I  undertake  to  sup- 
ply you  with  good  books,  good  wine,  and  good  cigars,  and 
you  will  see  London  from  a  less  conventional  point  of  view 
than  from  a  West-End  hotel.  I  can  make  a  show  of  re- 
turning your  hospitality." 

"It  will  be  a  fit  sequel  to  my  journey  in  search  of  novel 
impressions,"  replied  Fargus,  hugging  with  delight  the  pros- 
pect of  a  prolonged  course  of  intimacy. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DEA  EX  MACHINA. 

London  again,  on  a  tawny  September  afternoon.  Beauti- 
ful, at  least  to  the  two  travelers  whom  a  hansom  has  just 
disgorged  in  front  of  the  massive  gateway  of  Staple  Inn:  to 
Fargus,  filled  with  the  memories  and  emotions  which  a  return 
to  England  each  time  awakened;  to  Lewis,  who  had  a  cat- 
like attachment  to  his  old  haunts 

The  friends  felt  nothing  but  a  healthy  hunger  as  a  result 
of  the  short  day's  travel,  and  had  agreed  to  proceed  at  once 
in  quest  of  food,  after  depositing  their  luggage  at  the  iiui. 
But  on  their  way  out  Lewis  paused  a  moment  to  give  direc- 
tions to  the  jovial,  red-faced,  red-waistcoated  porter  anent 
the  preparation  of  his  rooms. 


Z46  Dea  Ex  Macbina. 

The  young  man,  having  concluded  his  instructions,  was 
about  to  hail  his  companion,  when  the  porter  stopped  him, 
and,  looking  full  of  importance  and  mystery,  observed  in  a 
confidential  whisper : 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  I  don't  know  if  you'd  like  the  other  gen- 
tleman to  hear,  but  there  has  been  a  lady  here  twice  already 
to  inquire  after  you." 

"A  lady  ?    What  sort  of  a  lady  ?" 

"Young  lady,  sir,  smartly  dressed — ^that  is  all  I  know,  sir," 
said  the  porter,  with  just  the  suspicion  of  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye.     "She  wanted  to  see  you  most  particularly." 

"Why — ^who  on  earth —    Did  she  leave  no  name?" 

"No,  sir;  said  you  would  not  know  it  if  she  were  to,  and 
wanted  to  know  when  you'd  be  back." 

^'This  is  mysterious.    You  are  sure  she  meant  me?" 

"Oh,  no  doubt  about  that,  sir ;  she  said  Mr,  L.  G.  Kerr." 

"And  you  are  sure  it  was  a  ladyf    What  was  she  like?" 

"Tall,  well  dressed ;  seemed  a  handsome  kind  of  lady — can't 
tell  you  more  nor  that,  sir.  She  called  again  yesterday  in 
a  hansom.  I  told  her  you  would  be  back  to-day,  and  she 
looked  pleased  and  asked  at  what  time  you  might  likely  to  be 
in." 

"WeU?" 

"That  I  couldn't  tell;  she  said  she  would  try  and  find  you 
at  home." 

A  man  who  consorts  with  a  high  ideal  has  rarely  grounds 
to  dread  the  specters  of  past  pleasures.  Lewis  Kerr  did  not 
need  to  waste  time  in  analyzing  his  recollections. 

"Well,  then,  if  this  person  calls  again  when  I  am  in  I 
will  see  her;  if  I  am  out,  ask  her  to  fix  an  hour."  And  turn- 
ing to  Fargus  he  took  his  arm,  and  they  crossed  over  to  the 
Bull  Inn  in  quest  of  their  meal. 

"And  who  is  she  ?"  asked  the  latter  carelessly. 

"I  really  could  not  tell  you,"  answered  Lewis.  "Some 
young  lady  anxious  to  meet  me.  I  caoinot  think  who  it  can 
be." 

Fargus  shot  a  swift,  anxious  look  at  him,  but  felt  rebuked 
as  he  met  his  son's  clear,  straightforward  eyes. 

After  an  old-fashioned  English  repast  they  returned  across 
the  road  and  mounted  the  twisted  flight  that  led  to  Lewis' 
pignon  sur  rue. 

"Well,  Mr.  Thomson,  father  mine,"  cried  the  latter  as  he 
ushered  Fargus  into  his  rooms,  "this  is  my  English  home — 
a  poor  thing,  sir,  but  mine  own — indeed,  the  only  home  I 
have  ever  known  in  my  paternal  country.    Come  what  may, 


Dea  Ex  MacHina.  147 

of  tMs  at  least  I  am  master,  and,  humble  as  it  is,  I  trust  you 
will  look  upon  it  as  yoxxrs  also." 

Fargus  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  son's  little  home  in  a 
silence  that  he  could  not  break.  Then,  standing  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  he  slowly  scanned  the  surroundings  with  a 
tenderly  appreciative  eye.  The  curious  retreat  might  have 
been  that  of  bookworm,  student,  or  philosopher,  to  judge 
fi'om  the  mass  of  volumes  that  lined  the  walls  from  floor  to 
pent-up  ceiling;  or  of  artist,  to  go  by  the  quaint,  motley 
furniture,  the  odd  relics  of  antiquity,  the  pictures,  the 
"curios";  but  for  the  extraordinary  order  and  neatness  more 
characteristic  of  the  soldier,  with  which  every  comer  of  space 
was  utilized  without  crowding  the  modest  limits.  A  home, 
thought  the  father,  exactly  fitted  to  its  owner. 

His  pleased  and  wandering  gaze  suddenly  became  fixed  as 
he  caught  sight  of  the  pictures  over  the  mantel-shelf.  He 
walked  across  the  room  to  look  more  closely.  His  own  por- 
trait and  Carmen's.  What  a  beautiful  creature  she  had 
been !  Since  he  had  known  his  son,  David  Fargus  had  never 
had  another  harsh  thought  for  his  dead  wife.  And  under- 
neath those  two  well-remembered  portraits,  the  sword,  the 
Highland  dirk  and  medals,  and  other  chattels  which  had  be- 
longed to  George  Kerr. 

David  Fargus  felt  his  eyes  moisten  as  they  fell  upon  these 
relics  of  his  own  past,  so  piously  collected  and  enshrined  in 
his  boy's  lonely  home. 

The  young  man  came  up  and  followed  the  direction  of  his 
eyes. 

"That  is  my  father's  portrait,"  he  explained  gravely,  "taken 
when  he  was  about  my  own  age.  Was  he  not  a  fine  fellow? 
And  that  is  my  poor  young  mother.  Damn  that  cur  who  is 
trying  to  cast  infamy  upon  her  memory!  Now  tell  me  can- 
didly, Colonel  Fargus,  do  you  see  the  likeness  between  my 
father  and  me  ?" 

He  placed  his  back  to  the  chimney-piece  and  stood  under 
the  picture,  looking  eagerly  at  his  companion.  Fargus  re- 
mained a  moment  lost  in  thought,  comparing,  with  heaven 
knows  what  sadness  and  pride,  the  young,  expectant  face  of 
the  living  with  the  painted  image  of  the  supposed  dead.  But 
the  father  was  pleased  to  see  one,  and  there  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  conviction  of  his  assurance. 

"You  are  like  him — very  like,  dear  boy." 

"Not  such  a  good-looking  fellow,  of  course,"  said  Lewis, 
with  a  blush  of  pleasure.  "Still  I  always  thought  there  was 
a  look  of  myself  there.  I  am  glad  you  see  it  too.  Now  sit 
down  in  my  own  armchair.  It  is  time  for  yoixr  smoke. 
Which  will  you  have,  pipe  or  cigar  ?" 


148  Dea  Ex  Machina. 

"A  pipe.  It  is  more  homely,  and  I  already  feel  so  much  at 
home,"  replied  Fargus,  who  sat  down,  with  a  contented  sigh. 

"Would  you  like  this  one?"  he  asked,  producing  a  very 
black  clay  pipe  mounted  in  silver  and  amber;  "it  is  one  of 
my  few  heirlooms;  no  one  but  myself  has  ever  used  it  since 
I  had  it.  I  treasure  it  as  the  apple  of  my  eye.  I  will  trust 
it  to  your  hand." 

He  placed  the  object  in  Fargiis'  outstretched  palm — the 
identical  grimy  pipe,  the  trusty  friend,  under  whose  soothing 
influence  that  first  self  of  his  had  awakened  from  the  mad- 
ness that  led  to  death,  so  many  years  ago  now,  before  its 
present  owner  had  seen  the  light  of  day!  Fargus  looked 
down  at  it  with  dilating  eye. 

"It  was  my  father's,"  said  Lewis,  here  interrupting  the 
flood  of  reminiscence,  with  a  smile  at  his  companion's  mute 
solemnity  of  contemplation ;  "that  is  why  it  is  so  precious  to 
me.  It  came  to  me  with  all  the  other  things  when  I  set  up 
my  college  rooms.  Mrs.  Hillyard,  his  sister,  you  know,  who 
had  preserved  them  for  me,  used  to  say  it  was  his  favorite 
pipe." 

Fitting  the  amber  mouthpiece  to  his  lips  with  an  odd  famil- 
iarity, Fargus  lit  that  memorable  relic  and  sank  back  in  his 
chair,  while  Lewis  rummaged  about  the  room. 

At  last,  when  everything  was  again  in  the  absolute  order, 
of  the  picturesque  as  well  as  handy  kind,  he  sat  down  op- 
posite his  guest,  and  filled  a  pipe  for  himself. 

"I  am  tired,"  said  he,  enjoyably  drawing  his  first  puff. 
"I  am  not  quite  so  robust  yet  as  I  might  be.  I  am  glad  to 
think  I  shall  have  you  at  my  elbow  in  all  these  affairs." 

"So  am  I.    I  am  as  much  interested  in  them  as  you  are." 

"It  is  very  odd,"  said  Lewis;  "I  am  so  accustomed  to  look 
to  you  for  help  it  all  seems  perfectly  natural.  But,  still,  it 
is  most  extraordinarily  self-denying  of  you,  when  I  come  to 
think  of  it. 

"This  suspense  is  wearing,  though  I  try  not  to  brood  over  it 
too  much.  Let  us  hope  I  shall  learn  something  definite  at 
Perkins'  to-morrow.    Hallo !  who  goes  there  ?" 

A  smart  rattle,  as  of  some  one  tapping  with  a  stick  or  um- 
brella. Lewis,  full  of  curious  anticipation,  went  to  open  the 
door,  but  the  next  moment,  with  a  stifled  exclamation,  stepped 
back  into  the  room. 

A  young  woman,  dressed  with  quiet  simplicity  in  soft  pale 
gray,  with  a  large  black  Rubens  hat,  wreathed  with  many 
falling  feathers,  on  her  shapely  head,  a  gray  parasol  in  one 
hand  and  a  somewhat  bulky  reticule  in  the  other,  stood  on 
the  threshold  against  the  light  of  the  stair  window. 

On  hearing  Lewis'  ejaculation,  Fargus  roSe  and  hastily  ad- 


Dea  Bx  MacHina.  X49 


vanced,  only  to  halt  in  his  turn  with  every  sign  of  the  most 
unmitigated  astonishment. 

"Miss  Woldham !"  he  cried. 

The  visitor,  who  had  seemed  inclined  to  beat  a  retreat,  on 
sight  of  the  elder  man,  recovered  her  self-possession  as  he 
spoke.  With  great  deliberation  she  walked  into  the  room, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  slowly  dawning  smile  of 
peculiar  significance.  Lewis  was  the  first  to  find  out  his 
mistake — he  had  been  tricked  again  by  that  resemblance! — 
and  frowning  upon  Maude's  double,  stood  waiting  with  im- 
patience for  her  next  move,  while  Fargus,  all  at  sea  and 
shaken  out  of  his  usual  self-possession,  surveyed  the  new- 
comer with  eyes  in  which  wonder  was  now  melting  into  joy- 
ful anticipation. 

"Look  again,  old  gentleman,"  their  visitor  said,  "are  you 
sure  I  am  the  real  Miss  Woldham?" 

At  this  Fargus  entered  upon  a  new  amazement,  to  give 
place  to  an  expression  of  the  most  complete  mystification. 
Maude  Woldham  never  spoke  with  that  twang,  that  vulgarity 
of  diction,  however  strangely  similar  the  tones  of  the  voice 
might  be;  nor  had  Maude  Woldham's  eyes — as  he  examined 
closer — that  unflinching  stare;  nor  were  the  beautiful  lines 
of  her  face  so  boldly  marked.  But  if  not  Maude  Woldham — 
who,  in  the  name  of  heavens  ? 

"This  is  Mr.  Kerr's  rooms — ^L.  G.  Kerr — ain't  it?  because 
that's  the  person  I've  come  to  see." 

She  turned  to  Lewis  as  she  spoke. 

"And  you're  the  man,  I  take  it  ?"  she  pursued. 

Lewis  glared  at  her  without  answering — ^was  it  a  planned 
insult  of  Charlie's? 

Fargus  came  to  the  rescue  with  a  sudden  intuition  of 
some  of  his  son's  feelings.  "These  are  Mr.  Lewis  Kerr's 
rooms,  madam,  and,  as  you  have  guessed,  this  gentleman  is 
Mr.  Kerr  himself,"  pressing  his  hand  in  friendly  warning  on 
the  young  man's  shoulder.  "He  has  been  very  ill — is  not 
yet  strong.    Will  you  not  take  a  seat  ?" 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  responded  the  lady,  taking  possession  of 
the  armchair,  and  tossing  reticule  and  parasol  on  the  couch. 
Once  more  addressing  Lewis,  while  she  proceeded  leisurely  to 
divest  large  but  well-shaped  hands  of  their  long  gloves :  "Oh, 
my!"  she  remarked,  "these  are  funny  stairs  of  yours,"  be- 
stowing pleased  and  smiling  looks  upon  her  astonished  hosts. 

Lewis  and  Fargus  exchanged  a  glance  of  amazement;  the 
latter  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the  humorous  side,  and  a  rather 
dry  smile  wandered  about  his  mouth. 

"And  so  you  are  Mr.  Kerr.  I  am  glad  I  have  found  you. 
You've  just  come  back  from  Inja,  haven't  you?" 


150  Dea  Ex  Machina. 

"Now  that  you  are  quite  at  home,"  with  scathing  polite- 
ness, "I  presume  I  may  ask  what  I  owe  the  honor  of  your 
visit  to?  You  appear  to  know  a  good  deal  about  me;  but  I 
have  yet  to  learn  whom  I  have  the  privilege  to  address." 

"You've  never  seen  me  before,  then  ?  Are  you  sure  you've 
never  known  any  one — something  like  me?  Think  well;  that 
one  over  there  seemed  to  think  I  was  quite  a  friend  of  his  at 
first." 

The  two  men  again  exchanged  a  glance.  But  one  thing 
was  clear  to  both;  the  girl  knew  perfectly  to  whom  it  was  she 
bore  so  marvelous  a  likeness. 

"You  do  look  cross!"  still  tauntingly  fixing  Lewis;  **per- 
haps  it  was  a  little  cool  my  bouncing  in  that  way.  But 
there's  one  thing  I  wanted  to  find  out  for  sure.  And  didn't 
I  do  it,  too  ?  I'd  rather  not  have  found  it  out  so  true.  And 
shall  I  tell  you  how?  I  saw  it  written  on  your  face,  Mr. 
Kerr,  even  before  the  old  gentleman  was  kind  enough  to  say 
it  for  me." 

There  was  a  pause.  Lewis  threw  himself  on  his  stool  and 
folded  his  arms  with  the  air  of  one  who  resigns  himself  to  a 
trying  infliction. 

"I  shan't  try  your  patience,"  she  said  gravely.  "I  have 
come  here  on  a  serious  matter  to  you — and  to  me ;"  this  with 
a  sudden  hard  compression  of  her  full  red  lips.  "To  begin 
with,  my  name's  Hilda  Hillyard — Mrs.  Hillyard." 

Neither  Lewis  nor  Fargus  was  able  to  restrain  a  movement 
of  surprise. 

The  girl  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  bitter  defiance. 

"What  makes  you  both  gape  at  me  like  that?  If  there 
is  any  reason  why  I  should  not  be  Charles  Hillyard's  wife 
kindly  mention  it." 

She  waited  for  a  reply;  receiving  none,  broke  into  scoffing 
laugh. 

"Maybe  you've  heard  of  him  paying  his  court  elsewhere?" 
— ^her  lips  trembling  as  she  spoke.  The  friends  became  lost 
in  amazement ;  their  visitor,  who  had  leaned  forward  to  watch 
their  faces,  fell  back  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  She  resinned, 
after  a  pause: 

"You've  heard  nothing?  I  am  glad  of  it.  You're  surprised 
he  should  marry  me  because  I'm  not  a  lady.  You're  right, 
Fm  not;  now  I  don't  mind  telling  you  Fm  not  his  wedded 
wife,  though  it's  well-nigh  four  years  that  I've  been  as  good 
as  one  to  him." 

The  silence  that  ensued  seemed  to  gall  the  reckless  speaker. 

I'Perhaps  you're  that  particular,  you'd  rather  not  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  me  ?    I  am  afraid  you'll  be  sold  in  the  end." 

The  brazen  look  was  as  a  cold  douche  to  Lewis.    He  turned 


Dea  Ex  Machina.  15X 


away  his  head  with  vexation.  Fargxis,  more  tolerant,  more 
far-seeing,  cast  a  grave,  not  unkind,  glance  upon  the  girl, 
under  which  her  eyes  fell ;  the  bold,  handsome  features  worked 
with  sudden  emotion. 

**I'm  not  ashamed  of  what  I  have  done.  There's  many  a 
fine  lady,  who  flaunts  about  the  court,  and  shakes  hands  with 
the  Queen,  has  not  as  clear  a  sheet  to  show  as  me;  many  a 
wedded  wife  hasn't  been  as  true  to  her  husband  as  I  have  to 
Charlie.  I  don't  care  whether  he  marries  me  or  not,  but  he 
don't  leave  me." 

Her  face  set  into  a  look  of  determination.  She  looked 
straight  before  her,  dropping  each  word  slowly  with  em- 
phatic meaning. 

"We  are  quite  in  the  dark,"  put  in  Fargus  gently.  "Why 
should  Mr.  Hillyard  leave  you  ?  And — forgive  me  if  I  appear 
rude ;  but  what  has  this  to  do  with  us  ?" 

Fargus'  manner  seemed  to  please.  She  smiled  upon  him 
broadly,  and,  with  a  childish  change  of  mood,  replied  almost 
gayly: 

"Why,  it  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with  that  young  man.  I've 
come  to  tell  him  about  it;  but  he's  cross.  Come  now,  that's 
better — you  look  a  deal  nicer  when  you're  good-tempered. 
And  you'll  live  to  thank  me  on  your  bended  knees  before  I've 
done.  But" — looking  wise — "as  it  is  something  private  and 
confidential,  I'd  better  know  who  the  old  gentleman  is.  Will 
you  introduce  him  ?" 

In  answer  to  an  acquiescent  glance  Lewis  complied  with  the 
request. 

"I'm  not  much  the  wiser,"  remarked  the  visitor  candidly. 
"Look  here,  Mr.  Kerr,  you'll  be  just  as  much  in  a  hat  as  me, 
if  your  friend  was  to  split  upon  us.  So  perhaps  you'd  bet- 
ter send  him  away." 

This  was  qualified  with  an  amiable  smile  at  Fargus. 

The  latter  looked  amused,  but  Lewis  responded  impatiently : 

"Mr.  Fargus  is  quite  to  be  trusted ;  he  is  my  adviser  upon 
most  important  legal  business  at  present.  Anything  you 
have  to  say  to  me  must  be  said  before  him." 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  were  to  leave  you  in  the 
lurch.  But  I  won't — first,  because  I  believe  you're  a  good 
sort;  second,  because  I  like  the  looks  of  him  even  better 
than  you;  thirdly,  because  it  would  not  suit  my  book. 
You've  important  legal  matters?  Then,  I  dare  say  all  my 
news  won't  be  as  much  news  to  you  as  I  thought." 

Lewis  bent  forward.  She  surveyed  him  a  moment  with  a 
malicious  smile,  and  looked  round  the  room. 

"Why,  I  declare,  if  that  isn't  a  tea-tray,  with  everything 
jis  handy  as  can  be.    Now,  look  here,  you  can  smoke  your 


152  Dea  Ex  Machina, 

pipes,  if  you'll  let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea.  I'm  just  dropping 
for  it.'' 

"It  is  not  made  yet,"  groaned  Lewis.  "I  can  get  you  some 
before  long.  In  the  mean  time,  perhaps,  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  state  your  business." 

"Now,  don't  you  bother,"  said  the  damsel,  rising.  "You 
sit  down  there;  you  don't  look  over-well.  I'll  cook  the  tea." 
And  with  much  neatness  she  proceeded  to  arrange  the  cups 
and  light  the  spirit-lamp,  perfectly  at  home.  "This  is  like 
the  place  Charlie  has  at  his  college,"  she  remarked. 

"You  have  been  to  Cambridge,  have  you  ?"  said  Lewis,  be- 
coming rather  tickled. 

"Yes,  once.  He  don't  like  my  being  seen  there.  They 
won't  have  ladies  about  the  colleges — so  he  said." 

As  she  stood  up,  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  her  hands 
behind  her,  the  careless  attitude  displayed  the  magnificent 
lines  of  her  figure  in  all  their  warm,  firm  perfection.  Far- 
gus  stood  watching  the  scene  in  silence. 

The  girl  glanced  over  her  shoulder  and  met  Lewis'  burning 
glance. 

"You  look  as  if  you  could  eat  me!"  she  cried.  "Well,  is 
that  Miss  Woldham  better  than  me  ?"  And  with  a  bold  move- 
ment she  drew  herself  up  and  turned  slowly  round.  After  a 
second  devoted  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  impression,  she  sat 
down  by  the  table,  and  pursued  with  great  composure:  "I 
don't  think  she  is.  She  may  be  a  lady;  a  lady  is  only  a 
woman ;  I  know  what  sort  of  a  woman  I  am,  and  I'm  as  good 
as  her." 

Then,  with  her  broad  smile,  that  displayed  teeth  of  the 
most  perfect  regularity  and  whiteness,  she  again  looked  from 
one  man  to  the  other  in  that  self-satisfied  and  good-tempered 
way,  poured  out  two  cups  of  tea,  and  handed  them  graciously. 

"I  wonder,  now,  if  you  think  me  cheeky  to  call  on  you  in 
this  way,"  she  remarked,  sipping  her  own  portion. 

"We  are  delighted  with  the  visit,"  said  Lewis  gravely;  **but 
I  own  I  shall  feel  a  desire  to  hear  more  of  its  purpose." 

"Well,  one  of  my  purposes  was  to  see  the  effect  of  my  ap- 
pearance upon  you — it  beats  all  I  expected.  You  must  be 
as  bad  as  Charlie  himself  about  that  girl.  That  was  one  of 
the  reasons  why  writing  would  not  do.  Now,  to  come  to  the 
other :  I  think  you  expect  to  come  into  a  certain  property  ?" 

"Perfectly.     I  have  come  into  one." 

"Well,  Charlie  thinks  he  has  found  means  of  coming  in  for 
it." 

"But  if  you  can  tell  me  how  he  hopes  to  keep  me  out,  that 
would,  I  confess,  be  news,  as  you  have  it." 

"It  would  be  silly  to  ask,"  replied  the  girl^  after  the  miaxr 


Dea  Ex  Machina.  153 


ner  of  a  humorous  proposition,  "if  you  are  really  anxious  to 
get  that  fine  property,  I  take  it." 

"I  mean  to  get  it,"  Lewis  replied,  "for  more  reasons  than 
one." 

"We  are  of  a  mind  on  one  point,  because  I  mean  not  to  let 
him  get  it,  if  I  can  prevent  it." 

"But,"  interposed  Fargus,  "what  are  your  reasons?  I  pre- 
sume he  believes  he  has  a  good  chance  of  success." 

"My  reasons,"  cried  the  girl,  "is  that  I  have  found  out  his 
little  game — I'm  not  going  to  be  given  the  slip  in  this  man- 
ner. I've  been  as  good  and  faithful  to  him  as  any  wife. 
I've  always  put  him  first  and  foremost.  I've  given  in  to  all 
his  fancies,  and  what  do  you  think  those  fancies  were? — 
why,  to  make  me  look  as  much  as  possible  like  that  girl  of 
his.  What  do  you  think  his  little  plan  now  is?  Why,  to 
pension  me  off — who  would  have  given  him  money  if  I  had 
had  it,  earned  it  for  him,  if  he  would  have  let  me — ^pension 
me  off,  that  he  might  go  and  play  the  squire  on  his  land  and 
marry  her;  that's  all.  Now,  so  long  as  he  has  only  his  col- 
lege-money to  live  on,  she  won't  look  at  him;  nor  would  he 
marry  her  on  small  means.  And  ladies,  you  know,  ain't  as 
easily  satisfied  as  one  like  me;  now  you  know  my  reason 
for  wanting  to  keep  him  out  of  the  property.  I  don't  want 
none  of  these  changes." 

Lewis  had  grown  crimson.  "That  girl  of  his"  in  connec- 
tion with  Charles,  made  him  shudder.  He  rose  and  paced  the 
room  uneasily,  for  the  first  time  dreading  Charlie  as  a  rival 
with  burning  jealousy. 

"I  won't  let  him  go,"  she  pursued  doggedly.  "Just  fancy, 
making  a  dummy  of  me.  But,  won't  there  be  a  jolly  row 
when  he  finds  the  papers  gone !" 

"What  papers  ?"  cried  Lewis,  coming  to  a  standstill. 

**Why,  them  papers  I  have  brought  to  you.  Just  hand 
me  my  bag  there,  please."  She  tugged  out  of  the  reticule  an 
immense  envelope,  bulky  with  inclosures,  and  tied  together 
with  string,  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  "Now  listen  to  me," 
she  went  on  laying  her  open  palm  over  the  bundle.  "It's  a 
good  turn  I've  come  to  do  you,  and  before  I  let  you  have 
them — ^which  I  think  you  ought  to  be  pleased  to  have — ^you 
must  swear  never  to  let  on  how  you  came  by  them." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can  in  honor  take  advantage  of  this. 
How  did  you  come  by  these  documents." 

The  girl  arched  her  straight  eyebrows  and  looked  at  him, 
but  aloud  she  ejaculated  triumphantly: 

"What!  Not  if  they  are  actually  addressed  to  youl"  hold- 
ing Tip  the  bundle  so  that  Lewis  could  read  on  the  envelope 


X54  Sudden  Development  of  Brain. 

his  own  name  in  the  clear  well-remembered  handwriting  of 
his  old  guardian. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SUDDEN  DEVELOPMENT  OF  BRAIN  IN  A  DUMMY. 

"My  God  I  Uncle  Robert's  writing!"  exclaimed  Lewis  in 
fear  and  anticipation,  and  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  seize 
the  parcel.  The  visitor  enjoyed  the  situation  too  keenly  to 
relinquish  it  so  promptly.  She  whipped  the  papers  behind 
her  back. 

"No,  you  don't,  my  lad ;  till  I've  had  my  say.  Besides,  you 
want  to  know  how  I've  come  by  them,  first.  If  I  can't  show 
you  I've  come  by  them  honestly,  perhaps  you'd  rather  not 
have  them,  though,  if  nicely  cooked  and  dished  up,  I'll  be 
bound  they  can  be  made  to  prove  that  you've  no  more  right 
to  the  estate — nor  to  the  name  of  Kerr,  for  all  that — than 
that  gentleman  yonder." 

Quivering  with  impatience,  Lewis  turned  to  Fargus,  and 
the  latter  came  forward  and  addressed  the  girl  with  gentle 
authority. 

"You  are  keeping  my  poor  friend  in  cruel  suspense.  I 
am  certain  that  nothing  you  can  have  got  hold  of  would 
ever  prove  what  you  suggest,  but  you  understand  that  those 
letters  must  be  of  great  importance  to  Mr.  Kerr,  as  they  are 
addressed  to  him.    Will  you  not  give  them  without  delay?" 

"I  won't  tease  him  any  more,"  answered  she,  "and  he  don't 
seem  strong  enough  to  bear  it.  I'd  like  you  to  hear  what  I 
have  to  say,  first.  I'd  like  to  tell  you  how  I  came  by  them. 
I  don't  care  that  you  should  think  too  bad  of  me.  If  I  don't 
have  my  say  before  you  get  hold  of  this,  you'll  be  far  too 
busy  grubbing  at  what's  inside  to  listen  to  me.  Now,  don't 
go  on  so,  Mr.  Kerr ;  it's  as  well,  as  I'm  sure  your  friend  will 
agree  with  me,  that  you  should  learn  what  that  cousin  of 
yours  has  been  up  to.  May  be,  too,  I'd  like  you  to  hear  how 
clever  I've  been,  and  how  I've  circumvented  him.  But  first 
of  all,  you  won't  split  on  me  ?" 

"One  instant,"  said  Fargus;  "will  you  allow  me  to  speak 
apart  with  my  friend  for  half  a  minute?" 

Receiving  a  careless  nod  of  acquiescence  in  answer,  Far- 
gus drew  his  son  into  the  inner  room. 

"You  have  confidence  in  me;  leave  me  the  management  of 
this.  You  do  not  realize  what  an  extraordinary  piece  of 
luck  this  is;  a  positive  godsend!    Let  the  girl  have  her  own 


Sudden  Development  of  Brain.  155 

way.  The  more  she  says,  the  more  shall  we  learn  of  what 
might  have  remained  sealed  to  us.  She  will  prove  an  all- 
valuable  ally." 

"I  hardly  know  if  I  am  justified." 

"Can  you  not  trust  your  honor  in  my  hands,  Lewis  ?" 

The  young  man  winced  under  the  glance  of  reproach.  All 
he  knew  of  his  kind  friend's  honored  past,  rose  up  before 
him. 

"Forgive  me,  I  put  everything  without  reserve  in  your 
hands." 

"I  accept  the  charge,"  answered  Fargus. 

They  re-entered  the  room  where  Miss  Hilda  sat  awaiting 
them. 

"We  give  you  our  word  of  honor,  as  gentlemen,"  said  the 
American,  "that  no  one  shall  ever  hear  from  us  that  you 
have  been  mixed  up  in  this  business.     Does  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

"It'll  have  to  do.  I'll  trust  you,  though  I've  small  reason 
to  believe  in  a  gentleman's  honor.  Well,  my  name's  Hilda 
Wren.  For  four  years  I've  lived  as  Charles  Hillyard's  wife. 
The  first  time  I  saw  him,  up  the  river,  I  thought  he  was  so 
handsome  he  looked  like  a  prince.  I  said  to  myself,  'That's 
the  man  for  me.'  I  loved  him  then,  and  I've  never  changed. 
I  love  him  still,  for  all  his  black  falseness  to  me.  He  said 
he  could  not  marry  me,  because  the  old  fools  at  the  Univer- 
sity had  made  a  law  against  Dons  marrying.  I  know  it's  no 
longer  so ;  I  found  that  out  too.  He  took  a  house  for  me  in 
Vincent  Square.  Do  you  know  the  place?  Anyhow,  I've 
made  him  a  nice  cosy  home  there  all  these  years,  though  it 
was  dull  to  be  so  much  alone.  I'd  have  been  glad  to  help 
him  more;  I  could  have  earned  money  easy;  there  is  not  a 
swagger  shop  in  London  that  wouldn't  pay  high  to  have  me 
about.  He  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  I  was  to  live  like  a  lady — 
slow  work  enough  I  found  it;  but  I  saw  him  every  week. 
We'd  go  out  a  drive  together,  go  to  the  theatre,  or  a  day  in 
the  coimtry ;  and  I  was  happy,  and  never  a  suspicion  came  till 
a  fortnight  ago. 

"It  was  a  small  thing  put  me  on  the  scent.  I  set  to  work 
then  and  made  it  out ;  my  eyes  are  well  opened  now." 

Despite  the  men's  eagerness  for  their  visitor  to  have  said 
her  say,  with  the  unread  bundle  of  papers  and  its  contents 
hanging,  a  sword  of  Damocles  over  their  heads,  they  could 
not  help  feeling  sympathy  with  her. 

"In  August,  Charlie  had  told  me  he  was  off  a-yachting  with 
a  friend;  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  nearly  a  month.  It  wasn't 
true — he  was  at  Gilham ;  I  found  it  out  afterward.  A  lonely 
month  for  me;  no  letters,  not  a  bit  of  change.  We  used  to 
go  away  somewhere  at  that  time,  the  happiest  bit  of  the 


156         Sudden  Development  of  Brain, 

whole  year  to  me.  I  thought  he  was  having  a  holiday  after 
his  hard  work.  As  I'm  telling  you,  it  passed  the  middle  of 
the  month,  and  Charlie  turned  up  unexpected.  Wasn't  I 
glad !  When  I  think  of  it  I  could  beat  my  head  against  the 
wall!  He  looked  ill,  I  thought,  and  worried  like.  It  was 
hot.  I  didn't  mind  his  being  grumpy,  with  the  joy  of  having 
him  there.  After  tea,  he  went  sound  asleep  on  the  sofa;  I 
didn't  mind,  either.  I  thought,  'He's  real  tired !'  and  went  to 
put  a  pillow  under  his  head.  I  saw  his  pocket-book  sticking 
out  of  his  pocket.  A  thought  came  over  me  I'd  like  to  see 
if  he'd  got  my  photo  safe  where  we'd  put  it  together  in  a  kind 
of  secret  place.  He  never  felt  me  touch  it,  and  I  pulled  it 
out." 

She  caught  her  breath  with  a  sort  of  gasping  laugh. 

"There  it  was,  sure  enough!  I  was  pleased,  and  then  I 
had  another  happy  thought.  I'd  had  my  photo  taken  while 
he  was  away;  an  uncommon  good  one.  I  said  to  myself  it 
would  be  fun  to  put  in  one  of  the  new  ones  instead  of  the 
old  thing.  I  pulled  out  the  old  photo  from  under  the  slab. 
Guess  what  I  found !  Another  photo  underneath.  I  thought 
it  was  one  of  myself,  I  never  saw  anything  so  like;  but  I 
couldn't  be  such  a  fool  for  long.  Well,  I  thought  that  he 
kept  it  there  just  because  it  was  so  like  me.  Silly  thing  to 
think.  But  I  couldn't  make  it  out ;  I  thought  he  was  still  as 
fond  of  me  as  I  of  him.  I  pulled  it  out;  on  the  back  of  it 
was  written:  'To  darling  Susie  from  Maud  Woldham,  Sep- 
tember 14,  1876,'  the  photographer  some  man  in  York.  That 
minute  he  stirred  in  his  sleep,  just  as  I  was  going  to  have  a 
look  at  the  papers.  I  stuff  everything  back  and  lay  the  case 
on  the  ground  beside  him,  to  look  just  as  if  it  had  fallen  out 
of  his  pocket.  I  went  back  to  the  window  to  think.  I 
didn't  want  him  to  know  I  suspected.  If  he  thought  I  was 
watching  him,  he'd  be  close  as  wax,  he's  so  clever,  I'd  never 
have  a  chance  against  him.  I  soon  settled  in  my  mind  I'd 
not  let  on,  and  there  were  three  or  four  queer  things  about 
it.  First  of  all,  the  photo  was  given  to  his  mother — I  knew 
her  name  was  Susie ;  then,  it  was  taken  in  York,  and  Gilham, 
where  his  mother  lived,  is  near  there;  so  I  said  to  myself, 
'It's  clear  the  girl  comes  from  that  part,  too';  the  date  was 
before  he  even  met  me;  the  girl's  hair  was  done  just  the 
same  way  he  made  me  do  mine  when  he  knew  me  first.  That 
last  set  me  thinking.  After  a  bit  he  wakes  up ;  when  he  finds 
the  book  on  the  floor  he  gives  a  sharp  glance  at  me;  I  was 
stailing  at  him  quite  cheerful ;  he  puts  it  in  his  pocket  with- 
out a  word.  *My  girl,'  says  he,  'go  and  put  on  your  bonnet 
and  we'll  have  some  dinner.  I've  been  debating  whether  I'd 
start  on  a  journey  to-night;  the  business  is  important  and 


Sudden  Development  of  Brain.         157 

I've  made  up  my  mind  it's  better  to  go  to-night.'  'Where  are 
you  going?'  *I'm  going  to  Southampton,'  he  said,  scowling 
at  me,  *from  there  to  the  South  of  Spain.' " 

"To  Spain!"  interrupted  both  men  with  a  cry  of  amaze- 
ment ;  Lewis  looked  across  to  Fargus  with  a  bitter  smile,  and 
said: 

"He  is  determined  to  leave  no  stone  unturned." 

Miss  Wren  caught  up  the  remark  and  pointed  it  with  char- 
acteristic directness: 

"No,  that  he  won't!"  she  cried.  "Your  mother  was 
Spanish,  wasn't  she  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Lewis,  reddening  again  with  indignation. 

"He's  gone  to  rake  up  something  about  her.  Don't  take 
on  like  that.  Who  cares  about  what  he  may  try  to  do — so 
long  as  he  don't  succeed?  It's  uncommon  lucky  for  you  I 
had  my  finger  in  his  pie.  You're  beginning  to  find  it  more 
interesting  than  you  thought.  I  begged  hard  to  take  me 
along  with  him  to  Spain,  partly  to  see  the  face  he'd  make.  I 
didn't  believe  a  word  about  his  going.  I  thought  he  was  off 
again  to  Gilham.  He  said  he  couldn't.  I  asked  him  what  he 
was  going  for.  He  said :  'Business,  money  matters.  A  rela- 
ton  of  mine's  dead.  If  I  find  out  what  I  want,  I  ought  to 
have  his  money.'  I  noticed  he  was  in  mourning.  I  began  to 
think  he  might  be  telling  the  truth.  *Go  and  get  your  bonnet 
on — we  have  just  three  hours  left  together,'  pulling  out  his 
watch.  All  my  doubts  of  him  came  back.  So  when  I  came 
down-stairs  to  go  out  I  listened  outside  the  door,  and  peeped 
through  the  key-hole,  before  going  in,  and  I  could  just  see 
him  as  busy  as  possible  stuffing  letters  and  papers  into  his 
dispatch-box.  When  I  turned  the  handle  and  came  in  he 
gave  a  start,  shut  up  everything  and  quickly  locked  the  box. 
'Hilda,'  he  said,  'you  see  this  box.  It  contains  papers  re- 
garding that  inheritance ;  they  are  very  important ;  you  must 
leave  it  at  my  solicitor's  to-morrow.  I  am  going  to  write  a 
letter  for  you  to  take  to  him.  I  meant  to  leave  it  myself,  but 
it  was  after  hours;  if  I  wait  I'll  miss  my  boat.'  'I'll  do  it,' 
says  I.  Then  he  wrote  the  letter  for  me.  Then  we  went  out 
for  dinner.  He  was  very  nice.  During  dinner  he  pulled 
out  his  pocket-book  to  get  a  banknote,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
I  took  it  up  careless-like  to  look  at  it,  to  find  out  if  he'd  got 
my  picture  still,  and  pulled  it  about  as  if  to  set  it  straight. 
The  other  photo  was  gone.  I  knew  then  there  was  something 
behind  it." 

The  narrator  paused.  Fargus,  looking  kindly  at  her, 
thought  her  face  seemed  pale. 

"You  are  tired,"  said  he ;  "you  had  better  rest  a  little." 

"I've  not  told  you  tlie  half  yet.    I'm  not  tired;  you  don't 


158  Sudden  Development  of  Brain. 

fancy  these  have  been  pleasant  things  for  me?  Not  that  a 
woman  who  has  loved  and  trusted  a  man  with  her  whole 
heart  for  years  can  find  out  he  is  a  villain  and  feel  none  the 
worse  for  it!  I  love  him;  if  I  didn't  I  wouldn't  be  here. 
He'll  always  be  the  one  man  for  me,  and  I  mean  to  keep  him. 
But  it's  been  cruel  hard.  You  haven't  heard  the  worst,  nor 
how  I  found  him  out.  That  girl's  photograph,  and  the  hurry 
he  had  been  in  to  shove  in  the  papers  and  the  photo  didn't 
let  me  sleep  that  night,  after  he  was  gone — it  was  to  South- 
ampton, after  all.  I  went  to  the  station  and  saw  his  ticket. 
The  next  day  I  couldn't  eat,  read,  walk,  work,  or  think  of  any- 
thing but  that  box.  I  sat  down  and  stared  at  it  from  morning 
till  night  wondering  what  was  along  with  that  photo.  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  I  fetched  all  my  keys  and  tried  them. 
Trust  Charlie  for  a  good  lock  on  his  secrets !  Not  one  would 
fit.  I  thought  I  must  find  out,  come  what  might.  So  I  go 
down  to  the  landlady,  a  shrewd  body,  and  I  say,  over  a  cup  of 
tea,  in  a  careless  way:  'There's  a  dressing-case  of  mine  got 
locked  vsdth  a  snap  and  the  key  inside,  and  I've  tried  every 
key  in  the  place.  It's  a  Chubb  lock.  I'll  have  to  break  it 
open.'  *Don't  you  do  that;  take  it  over  to  the  shop,  they'll 
open  it  for  you.  We  did  that  and  got  a  new  key  and  no 
trouble.'  'Give  me  the  address  and  I'll  go.'  I  took  it  coolly, 
never  pretended  it  was  anything  of  importance.  As  soon  as  I 
could  I  made  off  up-stairs,  and  off  in  a  hansom  with  the  box. 
To  cut  it  short,  1  was  that  grand  and  airy  at  Chubb's  the 
smart  young  man  never  dreamed  of  suspecting  my  story,  but 
opened  the  box  and  measured  the  lock  for  a  new  key.  I  had 
to  order  a  new  one  for  appearances'  sake.  The  lock  does  shut 
of  itself.  Back  I  got  into  my  hansom.  I  couldn't  keep  my 
fingers  out  of  the  box,  but  rummaged  in  it  all  the  way  home. 
One  thing  I  made  out — the  girl's  photo  was  not  in  it ;  he  had 
taken  it  with  him ;  a  bad  sign. 

"Soon  as  I  got  in  I  turned  all  the  papers  on  my  dressing- 
table  and  sat  down.  There  was  a  big  envelope  tied  up  with 
your  name  on  the  top,  Mr.  Kerr,  and  lots  of  letters  about 
business  that  looked  dull  enough;  that  was  all.  Nothing 
about  the  girl.  I  began  to  think  I  was  sold;  I  turned  over 
every  nook.  Then  I  took  up  this  here  envelope :  'Lewis  Kerr, 
Esq.'  'Now,  where  the  dickens  have  I  heard  that  name?' 
Then  I  remembered  you  were  that  cousin  he  used  to  be  such 
chums  with.  I  used  to  wish  you  to  Jericho,  when  you  kept 
him  away  from  me.  That  was  in  the  first  year  I  knew  him. 
I  could  see  nothing  in  these  stupid  lawyer's  letters,  so  the 
papers  he  spoke  of  as  so  important  must  be  in  that  packet, 
yet  it  was  addressed  to  another  man.  I  got  curious  and  un- 
tied the  string.    There  were  a  lot  of  letters  and  things  inside; 


Sudden  Development  of  Brain.        159 

you'll  see  it  for  yourself.  I  couldn't  understand  what  there 
was  so  precious  about  them.  One  never  knows  what  a  man 
like  Charlie  can  make  of  things.  It  didn't  seem  a  bit  inter- 
esting to  me.  What  could  it  matter  to  Charlie  about  your 
father  and  your  mother?  The  letter  to  you  at  the  top  said 
itself  the  papers  were  of  no  importance.  So  it  was  all  queer  he 
should  be  that  anxious.  I  thought  I'd  read  the  business  let- 
ters. I  read  them.  They  did  tell  me  lots.  The  first  thing 
was  Charlie  might  come  into  a  grand  fortune.  So  it  was 
true  what  he  said.  *Now  he  can  marry  me.'  Simple  of  me. 
Then  I  wondered  why  he  hadn't  wanted  me  to  know.  'Hilda,' 
said  I,  'read  on  before  you  make  a  fool  of  yourself.'  The 
next  thing  became  clear  to  me  was  it  was  your  fortune  he 
was  after.  That's  how  he  comes  to  have  the  letters  addressed 
to  you.  And  yet  I  felt  as  if  things  weren't  quite  on  the 
square.  'If  he  can  play  hanky-panky  with  his  chum,  it  may 
be  a  bad  look  for  me.'  After  that  1  opened  the  last  lawyer's 
letter;  I've  got  it  in  my  pocket.  I'll  read  it  to  you  now,  if 
you  will  give  us  some  light." 

Lewis  rose  to  obey,  and  Miss  Wren,  who  had  been  impa- 
tiently tapping  her  foot  during  this  delay,  spread  out  a  crum- 
pled letter  under  the  light,  and  once  more  raised  her  voice 
with  sarcastic  emphasis: 

"  'Dear  Sir  :  We  think  that  it  would  be  better  if  you 
would  let  us  have  the  safe  custody  of  the  documents,  as  on 
them  depends  everything.  It  is  advisable  you  should  investi- 
gate yourself  the  registers  of  birth  and  baptism  in  Seville. 
Although  we  may  look  upon  the  proofs  already  in  your  hands 
as  practically  sufficient  if  utilized  to  their  full  powers,  the 
matter  would,  of  course,  be  settled  beyond  the  possibility  of 
dispute,  should  the  date  of  the  claimant's  birth  be  found  not 
to  tally  with  the  requirements  of  his  case. 

"  'With  reference  to  the  young  woman  in  question,  we  cer- 
tainly opine  that,  considering  the  very  handsome  compensa- 
tion you  would,  in  case  of  success,  be  willing  to  offer  her,  you 
need  anticipate  little  trouble.  Meanwhile,  we  agree  with  you 
that  the  sooner  an  understanding  is  come  to  the  better,  and 
we  shall  be  happy  to  undertake  the  necessary  negotiations 
should  you  feel  siifficiently  confident  of  success  to  venture  on 
the  expense.' 

"That  is  all;  though  my  head  went  round  as  I  read  it,  I 
said  to  myself :  'That's  about  that  girl.'  You  may  well  look 
at  each  other ;  to  think  of  me,  such  an  innocent !  'That's  all 
right,'  I  says ;  'it's  that  girl.'  I  put  up  the  papers  and  closed 
the  box  and  went  about  the  room  singing,  all  the  time  I  kept 
saying:  'It's  that  other  girl  he  wants  to  get  rid  of.'    All  at 


l6o         Sudden  Development  of  Brain. 

once  I  knew  I  was  lying  to  myself.  *I  must  find  out  for  cer- 
tain, or  I  shall  die.*  I  made  up  my  mind  to  open  the  letter 
he  had  given  me  to  take  with  the  box  to  the  solicitor's.  So  I 
light  my  spirit-lamp  and  boil  my  kettle  and  hold  the  letter 
over  the  steam  and  open  it  as  easy  as  anything,  and  after  I'd 
opened  it  I  stood  staring  at  it,  and.  Lord  bless  me ! 

"I  know  that  letter  by  heart.  It's  short.  It  went  on  this 
way: 

"  'Dear  Sir  :  I  was  not  able  to  leave  the  documents  with 
you,  of  which  you  have  the  copy,  this  afternoon.  I  steam  to- 
morrow morning  for  Gibraltar,  my  dispatch-box,  containing, 
among  other  things,  the  papers  in  question,  will  be  left  at 
your  office.  In  default  of  a  better  messenger  in  my  hurry,  it 
will  be  brought  to  you  by  the  young  woman  I  spoke  to  you 
about.  It  may  be  as  well  that  you  should  see  her.  In  great 
haste,  yours;'  and  so  on. 

"When  I  read  that  I  seemed  to  go  mad  like.  I  rolled  on 
the  ground;  I  could  have  killed  myself,  only  that  it  woTild 
have  made  things  too  easy  for  him.  Then  I  read  everything 
over  again.  I  thought  of  everything.  That  Woldham  girl 
was  a  grand  young  lady,  for  wasn't  she  his  mother's  friend? 
When  he  found  he  couldn't  have  her,  he  finds  me,  and  I'm  so 
like  her,  he  takes  me  instead.  That's  why  he  made  me  do 
my  hair  so,  and  dress  so  particular — now  like  this,  now  like 
that;  he  never  went  yachting  at  all.  All  those  letters  were 
addressed  to  Gilham,  and  there  he  was,  seeing  her  again,  and 
making  up  to  her.  When  he  finds  he  can  do  a  friend  out  of  a 
fortune,  and  step  into  riches  and  grandeur,  he'll  cast  off  the 
wretched  dummy,  and  get  the  real  one!  That's  where  he's 
wrong.    I've  sworn  I'll  keep  him,  and  I  will !" 

Panting,  she  walked  the  room  in  a  fierce  manner,  clenching 
her  hands  as  she  went,  while  the  friends  heard  the  sound  of  a 
suppressed  sob.  When  she  returned,  and  stood  again  within 
the  circle  of  the  light,  she  was  dry-eyed,  and  the  magnificence 
of  her  beauty  struck  them  with  fresh  force. 

"Did  you  ever  see  that  Woldham  girl  in  a  dress  like  this  ?" 
she  asked  sharply,  "or  a  hat  like  this?"  sizing  the  black- 
plumed  headgear  that  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  planting  it  roughly 
on  her  head.     "Answer,  can't  you  ?" 

"I  have  only  seen  Miss  WoldharQ  for  three  years  or  more, 
and  that  only  for  a  short  while,"  answered  Lewis. 

But  Fargus  was  more  willing  to  humor  the  girl,  the  reason 
for  which  was  so  pathetic.  He  shifted  the  candles  to  exam- 
ine her  by  a  better  light,  and  exclaimed  in  tones  of  surprised 
conviction : 

"I  do  remember,  now  that  you  ask,  I  have  teen  Mis*  Wold- 


Sudden  Development  of  Brain.  i6i 

ham  dressed  just  like  you  at  Woldham.  I  used  to  think  it 
looked  as  if  it  had  come  out  of  an  old  picture." 

"I  knew  it,"  cried  Hilda  Wren,  stamping  her  foot.  "All 
along  he's  made  me  dress  like  her.  I'm  a  dummy,  I  tell  you — 
a  blessed  dummy !  But  I'll  make  him  smart  for  this,"  resum- 
ing her  pacing  about  the  room.  "He  always  pretended  to  care 
so  much  about  fashion.  I  was  to  wear  this,  that ;  one  wants 
to  look  nice,  and  I  never  thought  of  anything  except:  'Isn't 
Charlie  proud  of  me !'  Oh,  what  a  blasted  idiot  I  have  been ! 
I'd  have  torn  the  cursed  things  to  bits  and  dashed  it  on  the 
floor.  I'd  have  torn  the  rags  off  my  back,  rather  than  have 
done  it,  if  I'd  known." 

She  paused,  and  suddenly  her  tragic  airs  fell  from  her. 

"It  was  a  good  idea  to  put  on  those  clothes  he  made  rae  get 
last,  and  let  you  see  me  in  them.  Mr.  Kerr  seems  bad ;  head 
aching,  eh  ?  I  shan't  be  long  finishing.  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  play  a  big  game  to  prevent  Charlie  dropping  me.  *I  may 
whistle  for  him,  if  he  gets  the  fortune,  so  I'm  determined  he 
shan't;  nothing  worse  can  happen  to  me;  if  he  can't  have 
her,  he'll  come  back  to  me,  sooner  or  later!  There  was  a 
chance  that  way,  and  none  the  other.  I  thought  it  well  over, 
and  how  I'd  bring  you  the  papers.  My  first  idea  was  to  burn 
them,  when  I'd  reflected  the  papers  were  yours  by  rights,  then 
I  wanted  to  find  out  quite  clear  about  that  Woldham  girl. 
So  I  had  to  go  to  the  lawyers  first,  with  the  empty  box. 
That  old  duffer,  that  was  so  free  with  his  good  advice  about 
getting  rid  of  troublesome  young  women — may  be  I'll  worm 
something  out  of  him,  too.  After  a  week,  I'd  everything 
clear  in  my  head,  and  I  began  to  think  it  time  to  settle  my 
fine  young  man's  business,  when  I  got  a  letter  to  spur  me  up. 
It  was  as  cold  as  you  please,  saying  he  hoped  I'd  done  his 
commission ;  that  he  couldn't  tell  when  he  would  be  back — not 
for  ever  so  long.  TJiat  letter  told  me  something  else.  He 
wasn't  pleased  with  the  way  things  were  going  over  there.  I 
knew  by  the  crossing  of  his  t's  that  he  was  fit  to  be  tied  when 
he  wrote;  I  guessed  that  he  was  safe  to  be  coming  home  al- 
most immediately;  and  wanted  to  blind  me,  he  did  not  mean 
to  come  here ;  it  was  plain  that  he  was  beginning  the  cooling- 
off  business.  My  blood  was  up,  and  without  any  more  ado  I 
clinched  the  matter.  I  took  out  the  packet  of  papers  that 
meant  a  fortune  to  Charlie,  a  slap  in  the  face  for  you,  and 
the  sack  for  me,  and  put  them  carefully  in  my  hand-bag, 
locked  the  box,  and  buried  the  key  in  the  garden.  Then  I 
fastened  up  the  letter  I  was  to  bring  to  the  lawyer;  you'd 
never  have  known  it  had  been  touched.  Well,  I  got  there  in 
time. 

"  'Mr.  Hodgson  in,  young  man  ?'  says  I.  'I'll  see,  madam,' 


i62  Sudden  Development  of  Brain. 

says  he;  'what  business,  may  I  ask?'  'Say  it's  Mrs.  Hill- 
yard,  please,'  says  I,  *and  give  him  this,'  and  handed  him  the 
letter.  Presently  he  comes  back  and  says  Mr.  Hodgson  would 
see  me.  And  up-stairs  I  went,  him  carrying  the  box  for  me. 
There  was  a  little  old  gent  sitting  at  a  desk;  he  was  as  like 
a  weasel  as  ever  I  see.  'Sit  down,  madam,'  says  he,  'Is  that 
the  box?  Put  it  down,  William,  and  leave  us.  So  you've 
brought  this  from  Mr.  Hillyard.  I  see  this  letter's  dated  a 
week  back.'  'Couldn't  come  sooner,'  said  I,  smiling  at  him. 
He  frowned,  but  didn't  seem  to  have  a  word  to  say.  'He  gave 
it  to  me,'  I  said  (talking  of  the  box,  you  know),  'the  day  he 
went  off.  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  pressing  till  I  got  a  letter 
from  him  this  morning,  saying  he  hoped  I'd  done  his  com- 
mission. He  wrote  from  a  place  called  Sevilla.'  I  thought, 
'If  I  want  him  to  speak  up,  I'll  have  to  improve  a  bit.'  So  on 
I  went  again:  'I'm  to  call  on  you  for  something  concern- 
ing myself  besides — I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why.'  At  that  he 
was  really  taken  in,  as  he  was  humming  and  hawking.  That 
seemed  to  touch  him  up.  'Have  you  that  letter  here?'  he 
asks,  as  dry  as  can  be.  'No,  I  haven't,'  says  I;  'if  I  had,  you 
shouldn't  see  it.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  Charlie 
seemed  uncommon  jolly  over  his  business  there — and  he  says 
great  things  is  coming.'  I  knew  I'd  have  to  tell  a  lie  or  two." 

The  girl's  mimicry  was  marvelous. 

"You'd  have  laughed  a  bit  if  you'd  been  there,  especially 
if  you'd  known  what  I  was  up  to.  Then  I  went  on :  'I  haven't 
come  here  to  be  snapped  at  with  cross-questions,  and  it's 
a  pity  for  me  to  waste  this  lovely  afternoon  in  this  stuffy 
little  hole  of  yours.  I've  done  the  job  as  Charlie  told  me.  If 
you've  nothing  to  say,  it  don't  matter.  I  suppose  I  shall  hear 
all  about  it  when  he  comes  back.'  I  jumped  up  and  made  be- 
lieve to  go.  'Wait  a  bit,  madam,'  says  he,  waving  his  hand. 
'I  have  something  to  say,  rather  of  a  delicate  nature,  so  I 
must  beg  you  to  listen  to  me  quietly.  When  I  have  done,  you 
will  see  it  is  all  to  your  advantage,  on  the  whole.'  'Now  for 
Charlie's  handsome  compensation,'  thinks  I.  'The  case  is 
this,'  says  the  old  man.  'Mr.  Hillyard  has  explained  to  me  the 
nature  of  his  relations  with  you.  You  know  they  are  such 
as  cannot  last  forever.'  'No,  I  don't,'  said  I.  'You  should 
know  it,  madam.  Mr.  Hillyard's  connection  with  you  is  not 
what  his  family  or  friends  would  approve  of.'  'You  mean,' 
said  I,  'that  I'm  only  kept.  I'll  have  you  know,'  I  said,  'that 
Mr.  Hillyard  would  have  married  me  years  ago,  only  he'd  lose 
what  he  calls  his  fellowship  if  he  did,  and  that's  worth  a  pot 
of  money  to  him.'  'My  dear  young  lady,'  he  says,  'it  would  be 
false  kindness  to  allow  you  to  mistake  your  position,  but  it's 
snorp  thnn  n  ^o?.t  since  that  regulation's  been  done  away  with.' 


Sudden  Development  of  Brain.  163 

I  couldn't  speak,  for  that  came  hard  on  me,  I  own.  'Without 
any  further  beating  about  the  bush.  Miss  Wren,  I  must  inform 
you  Mr.  Hillyard's  life  is  about  to  change.  He  has  come,  or 
is  about  to  come,  into  some  landed  property.  He  will  have  to 
reside  in  the  country  and  undertake  the  duties  of  his  new 
position.'  I  knew  right  well  what  he  meant.  'Well,  I  don't 
quite  see  what  that's  to  do  with  me;  I  don't  mind — I  was 
brought  up  in  the  country  myself.'  'This  is  wasting  my  val- 
uable time.  Miss  Wren,'  said  he.  'Mr.  Hillyard  has  been 
some  time  in  coming  to  his  resolution,  but  has  made  up  his 
mind,  and  he  has  charged  me  to  let  you  know  it,  that  there 
might  not  be  too  much  sentiment.'  I  kept  up  my  part  well. 
'So  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  drop  me,  has  he  ?  Suppose, 
now,  I  mean  to  stick  to  him.' 

"The  old  man  told  me  I'd  be  a  fool  for  my  pains,  for  I'd 
lose  the  compensation  Charlie  was  ready  to  give  me,  and  he 
jawed  a  lot  about  the  impossibility  of  my  being  able  to  bring- 
in  a  breach  of  promise  (as  if  I  would  try  such  a  thing!)  after 
living  with  him  four  years.  Well,  after  a  good  deal  of  talk, 
he  tells  me  the  compensation  Charlie  '11  give  me  is  three 
hundred  a  year,  as  long  as  I  never  come  near  him,  or  write, 
and  I  left  him,  saying  I'd  think  over  it  all.  He  stood  look- 
ing after  me,  grinning  and  rubbing  his  hands,  and  thinking 
himself  so  jolly  clever.  And  me  going  off  with  the  papers 
in  the  bag  on  my  arm ! 

"Don't  you  think  I  am  a  fool  not  to  take  that  compensa- 
tion? Do  you  know,  that  lawyer  fellow  said  I  could  make  a 
real  good  marriage  with  such  a  fortune?" 

She  sprang  from  her  chair  and  flung  the  papers  across  the 
table  to  Fargus,  who  caught  them  between  his  hands. 

"Now  you  can  have  them ;  I've  done  with  the  things.  And 
I'll  make  off  with  myself;  it's  getting  late." 

Brave  as  she  was,  her  voice  broke  a  little. 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that!"  turning  on  Fargus;  "don't 
pity  me — I  can't  bear  it."  But  before  he  could  answer  she 
had  recovered  herself.  "Not  a  looking-glass  in  the  place," 
she  observed,  planting  her  hat  on  her  head ;  "just  like  a  man's 
room?  Good-by,  Mr.  Kerr;  I'm  real  sorry  to  see  you  look  so 
ill.  And  good-by,  Mr.  What's-your-name.  I  believe  you 
have  the  brains  of  both  of  you  under  your  hair,  for  I  am 
blessed  if  that  young  friend  of  yours  seems  to  know  if  he's 
standing  on  his  head  or  his  heels.  Perhaps  you  won't  mind 
dropping  me  a  line  some  time  to  say  how  the  whole  affair 
goes  off,  and  what  Charlie's  up  to.  He'll  be  fit  to  murder 
me." 

"I  shall  certainly  write  if  you  wish,"  answered  Fargus, 
shaking  her  warmly  by  the  hand;  "but  where  to?" 


164  "  Litera  Scripta  Manet." 

"Send  your  letter  to  the  Keppel  Head,  Vauxhall  Bridge 
Road,  care  of  Miss  Polly  Evans.  I've  your  word  you'll  never 
let  on  to  Charlie?  Sooner  or  later  he  must  find  out  it  was 
I  who  took  these  things ;  but  I'd  as  lief  he  never  knew  of  this 
visit  of  mine  to  you." 

"He  never  shall  know  from  us.  You  have  laid  my  friend 
under  great  obligations.  Miss  Wren.  If  ever  I  can  be  of  use 
to  you  in  any  way,  do  not  hesitate  to  write.  I  will  in  my 
turn  give  you  my  address  in  the  country.  Mr.  Kerr,"  he 
added  with  a  smile,  after  penciling  his  direction,  "is  rather 
too  young  to  be  able  to  befriend  you.  But  an  old  man  like 
me  has  his  privileges." 

She  took  the  card  and  gave  the  speaker  a  grateful  glance. 

"You're  real  kind,"  she  said.  >  "I  trust  you  a  long  way,  for 
all  I've  only  known  you  a  couple  of  hours.  You  have  a  true 
friend  there,  Mr.  Kerr;  you're  in  luck.  Good-by.  I'll  get 
a  cab  for  myself." 

The  door  closed  after  her. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"litera  scripta  MANET." 

The  father  and  son  stood  facing  each  other,  too  full  of 
thoughts  for  speech.     Fargus  broke  the  silence. 

"A  strange  turn  in  our  affairs,"  he  said,  "but  one  which 
will  wonderfully  simplify  matters." 

Lewis  sat  down  with  an  unconscious  gesture  of  bewilder- 
ment. 

"The  whole  business  is  sickening.  I  seem  no  better  than 
Charlie.  We  should  have  told  her  that  we  declined  to  have 
anything  to  say  to  such  underhand  ways." 

Fargus  held  the  papers  in  his  hand,  with  a  troubled  eye. 
Was  that  sensitive  honor  of  his  boy  to  be  now  another  ob- 
stacle to  overcome?    Difficulties  lay  on  every  side. 

**Lewis,  this  is  overstrained.  Are  not  these  papers  ad- 
dressed to  you?    Are  they  not  yours  by  right?" 

"Give  them  to  me,  then.  I  may  as  well  know  the  worst  at 
once.  I  make  a  poor  return  to  you  for  all  you  have  done 
to  me." 

"You  are  weak  and  ill,"  said  the  father,  "and  sorely  tried, 
or  I  confess  your  want  of  confidence  would  be  wounding. 
Come,  my  boy;  leave  the  perusal  of  these  documents  to  me." 

Lewis  rested  his  throbbing  forehead  on  his  hand; 


^    "Litera  Scripta  Manet."  165 

"Let  me  see  my  uncle's  letter,  at  any  rate,"  he  said  dog- 
gedly. 

"You  could  not  read  it.  I  can  see  by  your  manner  that 
you  are  almost  blind  again  with  headache." 

In  compliance  with  a  nod  of  assent  from  his  companion, 
Fargus  pulled  the  letter  out  of  its  envelope.  "What  if  the 
elder  Hillyard  were  to  bring  the  same  indictment  as  the 
younger?"  It  was  impossible  further  to  combat  Lewis' 
feverish  determination,  and  he  began  to  read  aloud  in  a  voice 
that  grew  firmer  as  he  proceeded.  The  letter  was  dated  a 
couple  of  years  back,  and  ran  thus: 

"  *My  Dear  Lewis  :  It  is  nearly  two  years  since  you  passed 
out  of  my  tutelage;  but,  knowing  that  it  was  your  wish,  and 
especially  that  of  my  wife,  I  have  continued  to  look  after 
your  interests  in  general.  The  hour  is  now  drawing  very 
nigh,  however,  when  I  shall  have  to  resign  all  earthly  charges. 
My  doctor  here,  as  well  as  the  specialist  I  have  consulted  in 
London,  both  admit  that  my  time  is  likely  to  be  limited,  and 
when  this  is  received  by  you  the  great  change  will  have  taken 
place  for  me. 

"  'Business  matters,  however,  are  not  what  I  have  now  to 
write  about;  you  will  find,  I  trust,  that  all  your  worldly  af- 
fairs are  well  cared  for  and  managed  by  Perkins. 

"  *Af ter  accepting  the  medical  men's  verdict,  I  set  to  work 
and  put  all  my  papers  into  final  order,  and  in  so  doing  I 
came  across  a  bundle  of  papers,  some  of  which  concern  you 
directly.  These  are  the  letters  and  other  documents  which 
came  twenty-four  years  ago,  before  you  were  born.  I  con- 
sidered it  my  duty  to  gather  and  to  retain  (for  my  own 
safeguard  and  justification),  when,  on  your  father's  death,  at 
my  wife's  request,  I  undertook  to  assist  his  helpless  widow  in 
her  trouble,  and  began  those  relations  by  correspondence  with 
your  grandfather,  Don  Atanasio  de  Ayala,  which  ultimately 
led  to  my  undertaking  the  duties  of  guardian  to  you. 

"  *I  have  thought  of  destroying  these  papers.  But  I  was 
restrained  by  scruples  of  conscience.  Rightfully  they  are 
yours,  and  now  my  purpose  in  writing  is  to  advise  you 
strongly  to  burn  this  bundle  unread.  No  good  can  come  of 
raking  up  old  family  misunderstandings,  the  last  effect  of 
which  has  been  visible  in  Mr.  Kerr's  persistently  hostile  at- 
titude toward  you.  You  will  do  wisely  in  leaving  the  past 
undisturbed. 

"  *I  cannot  even  send  you  this,  as  I  hear  with  satisfaction 
that  you  have  been  allowed  to  volunteer  for  active  service  in 
Afghanistan.  You  will  receive  the  packet,  therefore,  when 
you  return  to  England,  as  I  sincerely  hope,  safe  and  sound. 


i66  "  Litera  Scripta  Manet." 

Let  me  say,  ever  since  your  grandfather  on  his  death  asked 
me  to  take  an  interest  in  you,  I  have  watched  your  career 
with  no  feelings  but  those  of  satisfaction ;  I  feel  sure  the  rest 
of  your  journey  through  this  life  will  be  marked  by  the 
same  sense  of  duty  and  moral  refinement  I  have  observed  in 
you.  In  this  hope  I  must  say,  what  is  beyond  doubt,  a  last 
adieu  to  you.  Yours  affectionately, 

"'Robert  Hillyaed.' 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  Fargus,  looking  his  son  full  in  the 
eyes,  and  throwing  into  his  gaze  and  voice  all  the  intensity 
of  his  desire,  "you  hear  what  this  message  from  the  grave  tells 
you.  Will  you  burn  at  once,  or  trust  me  to  examine,  these 
relics  so  unfortunately  preserved.  And  if,  on  examination,  I 
agree  with  your  guardian,  will  you  let  me  fulfill  his  wishes  ? 
Let  us  settle  this  business  now  and  forever." 

Lewis  returned  Fargus'  gaze  with  a  sort  of  fascination, 
and  then  slowly  extended  his  hand  as  if  in  token  of  acquies- 
cence. Without  delay  he  withdrew  into  the  other  room, 
and,  lighting  a  candle,  perused  the  papers  hurriedly.  Every 
word  of  that  farewell  letter  to  Carmen  was  branded  in  his 
mind,  but  now,  the  plausible  constructions  which  might  have 
been  put  upon  every  bitter  sentence  seemed  to  flash  out  por- 
tentously. 

He  turned  to  the  brief  lines  in  which  William  Kerr  re- 
pudiated his  brother's  widow,  and  his  face  burned  with  indig- 
nation at  the  brutality  of  their  barely-veiled  insinuations. 
What  sudden  working  of  fate,  having  brought  back  from  the 
grave,  by  an  extraordinary  malice,  this  damning  circum- 
stantial evidence,  now  placed  it  within  the  grasp  of  the  man 
who  had  been  the  unwitting  originator  of  all  the  mischief  ? 

These  papers  formed  a  chain  of  evidence  almost  complete 
against  Lewis,  and,  aghast  at  finding  that  his  own  rash  acts 
had,  in  the  old  days,  forged  the  first  and  strongest  links, 
David  Fargus  was  seized  with  a  perfect  frenzy  of  impatience 
to  destroy  them  while  he  had  the  power. 

Beginning  with  his  own  and  Carmen's  letters,  he  held  the 
yellow  leaves  to  the  flame  and  watched  their  glowing  an- 
nihilation. The  last  blackened  scraps  of  the  squire's  letter 
were  vanishing  under  a  licking  tongue  of  fire,  when  Lewis 
entered  the  room. 

"Colonel  Fargus,"  he  cried  sharply,  "what  are  you  doing?" 

Holding  a  crumpled  bunch  of  paper  over  the  candle  Fargus 
restrained  Lewis'  hasty  approach  with  an  iron  grip;  then, 
the  destroying  element  having  invaded  the  last  corner  of  the 
last  writhing  sheet,  he  turned  to  him  with  undisguised  ela- 
tion, and  answered: 


Scylla.  167 


"Carrying  out  your  guardian's  direction.  Listen,  Lewis 
Kerr  of  Gilham;  your  case  is  as  clear  as  the  flame  which  has 
now  consiuned  all  this  folly.  Don't  look  at  me  with  that 
stupefaction.  These  papers  should  have  been  burned  long 
ago.  I  have  done  what  it  would  have  been  your  duty  to  the 
memory  of  your  father  and  mother  to  do  yoiirself." 

"Oh,  why  did  you  not  let  me  see  them?" 

"There  was  nothing  but  the  history  of  a  quarrel  and  of 
the  circumstances  which  attended  the  death  by  drowning  of 
(ieorge  Kerr,  your  father.  The  reason  I  have  burned  them 
is  because,  morbid  as  you  are,  after  your  illness,  you  would 
have  pored  over  those  old  letters  till  you  made  yourself  ill 
again.  I  have  burned  them  to  keep  them  from  you,  as  well 
as  to  insure  their  not  falling  into  Charlie's  hands  again.  Do 
you  doubt  me  now  ?    Do  you  doubt  your  mother,  after  all  ?" 

Lewis'  brow  cleared.  How  could  he  have  doubted,  even 
for  a  moment? 

He  said  so  aloud  with  a  shaking  voice. 

"Not  mad,  but  upset  by  all  this." 

"Thank  God,  all's  well  that  ends  well,  and  your  future  ia 
bright  once  more.  Now,"  with  a  cheery  change  of  manner, 
"it  is  past  nine  o'clock.  It  has  been  a  long,  eventful  day. 
Let  us  go  out  and  dine,  after  that  to  bed.  Your  head  will 
rest  the  better  for  some  supper  and  a  good  glass  of  wine." 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 

SOTLLA. 

In  that  queer  old  attic,  which  to  Fargus  had  already  grown 
one  of  the  pleasantest  spots  on  earth,  the  two  men  sat  the 
next  morning  over  a  late  breakfast. 

Outside  the  world  was  gloomy.  The  rain  was  dropping 
from  the  gabled  roof  and  beating  the  casement. 

Inside  the  quaint  bachelor  home  looked  the  very  shrine 
of  comfort,  and  such  had  been  Fargus'  first  thought  as  he 
emerged  from  his  bed-room  and  found  Lewis  leaning  against 
the  chimney-piece  quietly  scanning  the  morning  paper  as 
he  waited  for  his  guest.  Lewis  Kerr,  rich  enough  to  gratify 
all  his  peculiar  tastes,  was  pleased  to  surround  himself  with 
household  items  attractive  to  the  eye.  Tea  wa.s  fragrantly 
brewing  in  a  silver  pot,  which  Fargus  suddenly  recognized  as 
one  of  George  Kerr's  wedding  presents;  a  rye  loaf  stood 
crustily  inviting  on  an  ancient  and  precious  oaken  platter; 
bacon  and  eggs  reposed  crisp  on  a  Dutch  plate.    Lewis  had 


i68  Scylla. 


slept  soundly,  and  had  awakened  strong  and  refreshed  to  find 
life  decidedly  brighter  and  more  interesting,  in  spite  of 
damp  and  gloomy  weather. 

Fargus,  on  his  side,  perceiving  the  beneficial  change  in  his 
son's  mind,  was  not  slow  to  respond  to  it.  The  morning  meal 
was  thus  a  cheerful  one. 

"I  feel  a  different  being  this  morning,"  observed  Lewis,  as 
he  sat  down  to  the  breakfast  table.  "Upon  my  word,  Colonel, 
though  I  was  very  angry,  I  quite  see  now  how  wise  you  were 
to  keep  those  papers  from  me  just  then.  You  will  have  to 
tell  me  what  was  in  them." 

"Of  course  I  shall,"  said  Fargus,  quietly  sipping  his  tea. 
"It  is  necessary  you  should  know  all  the  facts  of  the  case,  for 
your  adversary  is  pretty  sure  to  introduce  them  to  you  under 
some  vivid  artificial  light  whenever  he  tries  conclusions  with 
you  about  this  intended  amicable  arrangement." 

None  could  have  guessed  from  the  speaker's  manner  how 
sorely  his  spirit  quailed  from  the  prospect.  It  was  inevitable 
that  on  him  should  devolve  the  duty  of  preparing  Lewis 
against  the  forthcoming  revelations  of  Charles  Hillyard. 
The  night  had  been  spent  thinking  over  the  simplest  way  of 
dealing  with  the  case — to  tell  his  son  the  story  of  George 
Kerr's  suicide  as  set  forth  by  these  letters.  But  best  that  he 
should  learn  it  from  the  lips  of  him  who  could  argue  with 
absolute  conviction  the  falseness  of  Charles  Hillyard's  in- 
terpretation. The  burden  of  the  father's  secret  anxiety  could 
not  but  be  lessened  to  find  Lewis  in  such  healthy  frame  of 
mind  that  morning. 

"I  see  no  reason  to  repent  my  decision  of  last  night.  What 
was  it  Talleyrand  said  about  letters  ?  'Give  me  three  lines  of 
a  man's  handwriting,  and  I'll  hang  him.'  This  shows  what 
his  masterly  cunning  thought  of  the  capabilties  of  'black  and 
white'  for  being  twisted  to  any  purpose.  Your  cousin's 
scheme  for  utilizing  these  letters  was  too  clever  to  justify  me, 
as  your  adviser,  in  leaving  them  in  existence  an  hour  longer. 
I  might  have  had  a  fit  in  the  night,  gone  mad,  or  broken 
my  neck;  and,  however  sensibly  you  may  be  disposed  to  look 
on  things  this  morning,  I  had  good  reasons  to  mistrust  your 
quixotic  turn  of  mind,  not  to  foresee  the  possibility  of  your 
being  tempted  by  specious  arguments  to  give  them  up  again. 
A  soldier  is  notoriously  a  bad  business  man." 

Lewis  smiled  at  this  lecture. 

"I  grant  you,"  answered  Levris,  meditatively,  "you  would 
prove  a  far  better  match  than  I  for  Charlie.  Indeed,  the 
gusts  of  anger  I  cannot  restrain  every  time  I  think  of  him 
paralyze  my  common  sense.    I  ought  to  thank  Heaven  it  has 


Scylla.  169 

been  settled  as  it  is;  I  can  hardly  imagine  how  I  ehould  have 
come  out  of  it." 

"I  am  deeply  curious,"  said  Fargus,  "to  see  how  Mr.  Hill- 
yard's  game  will  go  on  now  that  the  trimips  are  all  in  our 
hands.  That  young  man  is  clever.  He  would  play,  I  am 
sure,  an  admirable  hand  at  *poker.'  I  met  him,  as  I  told 
you,  several  times  at  Gilham,  and  noticed  his  striking  face, 
though  I  cannot  say  I  felt  much  attracted  by  his  cold,  calcu- 
lating character,  which  for  all  his  polish  of  manner,  I  could 
not  help  finding  out  somehow.  As  for  you,  all  this  business 
has  been  a  rude  awakening  to  the  fact  that  a  few  friendships 
can  stand  the  test  of  clashing  interests.  And  yet  yours  was 
a  friendship  of  more  than  usual  closeness,  was  it  not  ?" 

"I  can  answer  for  my  side,  at  least,"  said  Lewis.  "I  looked 
upon  him  as  the  Breton  knight  of  the  legend  might  have 
looked  on  his  frere  d'armes,  as  the  gold  digger,  your  Bret 
Harte  tells  us  of,  looks  on  his  partner ;  and  besides  this,  to  his 
influence  I  attributed  whatever  success  I  had  at  college.  He 
was,  in  fact,  my  high  ideal  of  the  Englishman,  in  those  days 
when  all  my  eagerness  was  to  make  myself  worthy  of  my 
country,  I  would  have  done  anything  for  him.  And  now  here 
I  am,  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  Charlie,  for  self-interest, 
steps  from  his  high  pedestal  to  the  low  level  of  pettifogging 
schemer." 

"And  this  youthful  fascination  of  yours,"  asked  Fargus, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "this  romantic  affection,  was  it  re- 
ciprocated ?" 

"We  were  great  friends,  though  his  liking  for  me  was,  of 
course,  of  a  different  kind ;  such  as  befited  a  coach  toward  his 
pupil,  a  thoroughbred  Englishman  toward  a  semi-foreigner,  a 
man  of  standing  toward  one  decidedly  his  junior.  I  really 
believe  he  would  have  gone  out  of  his  way  to  do  me  a  good 
turn.  And  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion,"  continued  Lewis, 
"that  money  considerations  alone  could  not  have  induced  him 
to  act  so  dishonorably.  There  must  have  been  a  stronger 
lever  at  work.  Yesterday's  revelations  confirmed  much  that 
before  I  had  only  suspected.  Colonel  Fargus,  it  is  useless 
for  me  to  try  to  conceal  what  you  know  already,  though  I 
have  never  told  it  to  you  in  so  many  words.  I  had  reasons 
to  think  Maude  Woldham  might  love  me  as  I  loved  her.  It 
has  been  the  aim  of  my  life  to  try  and  win  her.  When  I 
heard  of  my  accession  to  the  Gilham  fortune  I  started  off 
after  her  to  Homburg,  at  once,  full  of  not  unjustifiable  hopes. 
I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife — and  was  refused.  I  believe  that, 
had  it  not  been  for  that  blander  on  the  question  of  my  birth- 
right, Maude  might  have  remained  true  to  her  tacit  pledge 
to  me.    How  could  she  think  of  mating  herself  to  a  poor  devil 


lyo  Scylla. 

whose  very  name  is  supposed  to  be  his  own  only  on  suffer- 
ance 2  There  was  pity  in  her  eyes  when  she  recognized  me; 
but  that  pity  only  accentuates  the  insult  and  the  grief." 

"All  this  may  be  true,"  said  Fargus,  quietly.  "But  instead 
of  fixing  the  past,  fix  the  future.  The  elaborately-con- 
structed plot  which  was  to  deprive  you  of  the  woman  you 
want,  the  name  that  belongs  to  you,  and  the  fortune  that 
awaits  you,  falls  to  pieces  now  that  its  main  prop  has  been 
removed.  What  follows  ?  You  become  one  of  the  great  land- 
owners, the  head  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  that  part  of 
England  which  Miss  Woldham  brightens  with  her  presence. 
And  with  reference  to  what  has  taken  place  between  you  and 
her,  don't  you  think  it  better  that  she  should  have  refused  you 
through  some  hidden  reason  which  she  could  not  tell  you  to 
your  face — ^perhaps,  acting  under  some  order  written  to  her 
by  her  father — than  that  her  motive  should  have  been  mere 
indifference?  Her  sense  of  generosity  (1  know  the  girl's 
charming  nature,  for  all  that  our  acquaintance  is  but  of  a 
few  weeks'  standing)  when  she  learns  the  truth,  will  warm  her 
heart  toward  you  more  than  the  knowledge  of  your  prosper- 
ity. As  for  the  father,  from  the  drift  of  the  conversation  we 
have  had  together,  I  know  his  dream  would  be  to  see  his 
girl  happily  married,  if  marriage  did  not  take  her  away  from 
him." 

"My  dear  Colonel,"  cried  Lewis,  "what  good  your  talk  does 
me !    I  declare  you  are  a  very  alchemist  of  the  mind." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Fargus,  smiling,  "I  came  last  night  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  really  seems  a  pity  to  waste  these  au- 
tumn days  in  London.  Our  reason  for  remaining  on  here 
has  been  happily  removed,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to 
take  a  train  for  Yorkshire  to-morrow  or  the  next  day.  More- 
over, it  is  time  you  should  make  act  of  presence  on  your 
estate.  If  you  do  not  care  for  the  lonely  splendor  of  the 
Court,  my  shooting-box  will  give  you  the  warmest  of  wel- 
comes. I  propose,  then,  to  start  myself  to-morrow,  and  that 
you  should  follow  in  a  day  or  two.  You  must  consult  Per- 
kins, and  best  by  yourself,  though  all  you  need  say  is  that 
you  believe  your  cousin's  claim  will  come  to  nothing,  and 
that,  since  no  active  steps  have  been  taken  by  the  other  side 
as  yet,  you,  at  any  rate,  will  quietly  continue  to  act  as  if  you 
had  never  heard  of  it." 

Lewis  looked  as  if  the  proposal  were  tempting  enough. 

He  said,  after  reflecting  a  while:  "And  if  you  will  be  so 
^ood  as  to  have  me,  I  should  rather  go  to  you.  I  shall  see 
more  of  you ;  and,  besides,  I  hardly  like  to  go  to  Gilham  until 
it  is  evident  that  Charlie  has  abandoned  the  field." 

"There  need  be  no  fear  about  that,"  answered  Fargus,  when 


Scylla.  X71 


the  sound  of  a  letter  falling  through  the  slit  of  the  letter- 
box attracted  his  attention. 

"By  Jove!"  said  Lewis,  looking  at  the  clock,  "we  are  late 
this  morning.  Probably  Perkins'  missive  to  fix  an  hour  for 
our  interview." 

Lewis  proceeded  in  quest  of  the  letter.  When  he  returned 
he  was  holding  the  still  unopened  envelope  in  his  hand. 

"From  Charles  Hilly ard,"  he  said,  briefly. 

He  tore  the  cover  open  and  studied  the  commvmication  for 
a  few  seconds,  then  tossed  it  with  a  dry  laugh  across  the 
table  to  his  companion,  who  sat  watching  him  with  some 
tmeasiness.  The  letter  contained  a  few  careless  lines  in  the 
small  cramped  handwriting  peculiar  to  many  scholars,  and 
merely  begged  the  recipient  to  fix  the  earliest  date  possible 
for  an  interview  on  matters  of  the  utmost  importance. 

"Cool,  is  it  not?"  mused  Lewis.  "Not  a  hint  of  what  he 
is  up  to,  though  Perkins  told  him  he  would  write  to  me  about 
the  business," 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  see  him,  surely,"  urged  Far- 
gus.  "This  letter  was  written  last  night ;  he  evidently  knows 
nothing  of  the  loss  he  has  sustained.  When  he  finds  out  that 
he  has  lost  the  trick,  his  rage  will  be  fearful  for  a  little  while; 
and  you,  my  boy,  have  got  a  hot  temper  of  your  own,  too, 
and  are  not  especially  disposed  to  be  deferential  with  him  just 
now.  I  confess  I  am  of  opinion  that  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  a  while,  and  exchange  your  ideas  by  letter  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Lewis.  "You  have  been  right  and  wise  in 
all  your,advice,  but  I  cannot  agree  with  you  there.  Why, 
Charles  would  think  I  am  shirking  the  ordeal.  Since  I  must 
see  him,  the  sooner  this  hateful  business  is  over  the  better. 
Besides,"  with  a  half-malicioiis  smile,  "I  should  rather  like  to 
see  him  before  he  makes  the  discovery  of  the  empty  dispatch- 
box.  I  am  curious  to  hear  his  version  of  the  case.  I  should 
not  be  sorry  to  give  him  a  bit  of  my  mind,  either." 

Fargus  looked  at  his  son,  and  there  was  a  somewhat  per- 
turbed speculation  in  his  eye. 

"Excuse  me,"  Lewis  proceeded  with  great  briskness,  "there 
is  the  morning  paper — I  shall  send  a  telegram  to  Charles  to 
say  I  shall  be  ready  any  time  after  three  to-day." 

And,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  ran  out  of  the  room. 
The  well-assumed  placidity  of  expression  departed  from  Far- 
gus' face.  Charles  Hillyard,  whether  cynically  self-confi- 
dent or  maddened  by  disappointment,  might  say  things  to 
Lewis  which  might  be  as  hard  to  disprove  as  they  would  be 
cruel  to  hear.  And  it  rested  with  the  father  to  try  and  ex- 
plain awny  to  his  boy  in  some  plausible  manner  all  the  mis- 


1/2  Scylla. 

leading  evidences  with  which  that  friend  of  his  was  waiting 
to  buffet  him — doubly  hard  in  the  face  of  Lewis'  susceptibil- 
ity on  matters  that  had  been  a  source  of  pride  to  him,  and 
one  the  success  of  which  was  problematic.  Yet  it  had  to  be 
iindertaken,  and  Fargus  accepted  it  as  a  first  expiation  of 
his  past  selfishness. 

When  Lewis  returned  from  his  errand  and  the  two  sat 
down  opposite  each  other  by  the  blazing  hearth,  the  elder, 
feeling  the  uselessness  of  delay,  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the 
business  with  all  the  facility  he  could  summon. 

"Now  about  my  report,"  said  he,  "concerning  the  relics 
which  I  cremated  yesternight.  I  must  ask  you  whether  you 
ever  heard  any  theory  advanced  on  the  subject  of  your 
father's  death,  other  than  what  you  have  told  me?" 

Lewis  frowned ;  then  he  answered  slowly : 

"Never.  I  must  own  since  all  this  ado  on  the  subject  has 
been  raised,  I  have  been  going  over  what  I  know  of  the  past 
in  my  own  mind;  and  I  have  more  than  once  thought  that 
the  other  side  may  possibly  wish  to  make  out  that  he  com- 
mitted suicide.  It  seems  absurd,  but  the  idea  has  haunted 
me  of  late." 

"As  it  happens,"  replied  Fargus,  "my  dear  fellow,  you  have 
made  a  shrewd  guess ;  that  is  one  of  the  chief  points  on  which 
your  cousin  bases  his  plan  of  campaign.  And  in  fact  it  ap- 
pears it  was  generally  rumored  at  the  time  that  your  father 
did  commit  suicide.  It  was  not  set  afloat  by  your  relations, 
for  Mr.  Kerr,  who  had  quarreled  with  your  father  on  his  mar- 
riage, was  never  heard  to  speak  of  him.  Your  uncle  Hill- 
yard,  on  the  other  hand,  was  far  too  discreet  and  conscien- 
tious to  ventilate  such  a  theory.  George  Kerr — ^who  set  out 
one  evening  to  take  a  solitary  sail  round  Portsmouth  Har- 
bor— never  came  home  again." 

Lewis  was  the  first  again  to  break  the  silence. 

"I  never  knew,  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  till  the 
other  day.    Were  the  gossips  busy  about  my  mother,  too  ?" 

"No,"  cried  the  father  emphatically  "No,  Lewis ;  that  was 
left  to  your  cousin,  when  he  found  it  suited  his  interest.  And 
now  this  brings  me  to  the  papers.  You  heard  from  your 
uncle's  words,  the  first  and  most  important,  you  know,  is 
the  last  letter  of  your  father;  that  letter  points  to  a  very 
angry  quarrel  between  him  and  your  mother.  Do  you  know 
anything  about  their  short  married  life  ?" 

"The  only  person  who  could  have  given  me  any  informa- 
tion was  Aunt  Susie  Hillyard,"  Lewis  answered.  "And  she 
was  always  so  frightfully  cut  up  when  she  talked  about  her 
brother  that  I  never  liked  to  broach  the  subject ;  but  I  do  re- 
member her  saTiny  that  my  mother  was  a  spoiled  beauty,  and 


Scylla.  173 

my  father  a  wild,  irrepressible  boy,  and  she  feared  they  often 
fell  out ;  but  she  was  sure  they  loved  each  other,  all  the  same. 
But  please  go  on,  sir;  what  about  these  letters?" 

"It  is  not  likely,"  Fargus  went  on — "it  is  not  likely,  I  say, 
that  she  could  have  made  him  happy  in  the  long  run.  It  is 
probable  that  they  fought  desperately,  and  that  is  just  what 
the  letter  in  question  seemed  to  point  to.  At  any  rate,  when 
your  father  wrote  from  Portsmouth,  there  is  no  doubt  he  was 
in  hot  anger.  He  bade  his  wife  farewell  forever,  telling  her 
he  was  glad  they  had  no  children.  It  would  seem  it  was  sui- 
cide he  meditated,  for  he  added  'Every  one  will  believe  in 
the  accident  you  will  hear  of.'  Now,  Lewis,  be  calm.  If  it 
be  true  that  your  father  meant  to  do  away  with  himself,  if 
the  only  deduction  one  could  draw  from  his  letter  in  con- 
junction with  subsequent  events  is  that  he  did  do  so,  that  is 
the  worst  that  can  be  said.  It  may  be  a  source  of  grief  to 
you,  but,  reflect,  the  man  who  contemplates  suicide  does  so, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  in  a  state  of  mind  akin  to  insanity. 
A  young  man  of  no  occupation — I  believe  you  said  your 
father  gave  up  the  army  to  marry — may  well  fall  into  that 
state  which  culminates  in  the  madness  of  self-destruction; 
you  know  how  near  you  were  yourself  to  it,  and  from  how 
inadequate  a  m-otive.  I  am  beginning  to  think,  after  all,  I 
need  not  have  mistrusted  your  common  sense." 

Lewis  gave  a  faint  smile;  and  Fargus,  taking  up  the  cold 
pipe,  puffed  at  it  with  a  great  appearance  of  content. 

"The  first  most  obvious  thing  to  be  noted  is  that  your 
father  makes  absolutely  no  accusation  which  could,  except 
by  the  most  gratuitous  implication,  be  looked  upon  as  affect- 
ing your  mother's  honor;  moreover,  if  his  angry  departure 
from  his  home,  and  his  threats  of  self-destruction  had  been 
brought  about  by  the  discovery  of  some  shameful  misconduct 
on  her  part,  that  would  have  involved  the  existence  of  a  third 
person,  to  whom  there  was  not  even  an  allusion  in  the  letter. 
I  think  this  is  a  circumstance  which  would  have  gone  some 
way  toward  demolishing  Mr.  Hillyard's  theory.  In  the  second 
place,  concerning  your  father's  belief  in  his  own  childless- 
ness— ^which,  no  doubt,  would  have  been  used  as  one  of  the 
claimant's  strongest  arguments,  it  can  prove  absolutely 
nothing  one  way  or  another;  your  mother  herself  could 
hardly  at  that  time  have  known  of  her  condition.  You  think 
things  are  beginning  to  shape  themselves,  do  you?  Ton  be- 
gin to  understand  how  it  is  that  these  letters,  conveying  to 
any  right-minded  i)erson  none  of  the  evil  meaning  your 
cousin  would  fain  find  in  them,  could  make  a  pretty  case 
against  you." 


174  Scylla. 

"You  put  things  very  clearly.  Colonel.  What  of  the  other 
letters?" 

"Oh,  the  others,"  returned  Fargus,  "the  others  are  of  small 
importance  compared  with  that  letter  of  your  father's  which 
was  evidently  the  pivot  on  which  turned  the  whole  scheme; 
they  are  only  important  as  connected  with  and  corroborative 
of  it.  Your  mother,  on  receipt  of  the  same,  wrote  in  great 
distress  to  your  father's  sister,  imploring  her  to  come  and 
advise  her.  This,  in  itself,  is  not  the  act  of  a  woman  who 
has  sinned  against  her  husband  and  been  found  out.  Never- 
theless, this  incoherent  scrawl,  in  which  the  writer  childishly 
announces  she  has  had  a  'dreadful  letter,'  that  her  husband 
means  to  kill  himself,  that  she  does  not  know  what  to  do — 
in  which  she  blames  herself,  yet  calls  him  very  cruel  in  the 
same  breath,  might  easily  have  been  utilized  to  its  fullest 
extent  by  the  counsel  for  the  claimant,  as  implying  a  full 
confession  of  guilt." 

"And  is  that  really  all?"  asked  Lewis  at  last,  with  a  sigh 
of  relaxation.  "Is  it  really  on  no  better  grounds  than  those 
that  Charles  is  trying  to  impeach  my  position  ?" 

"That  is  all,"  answered  the  father;  "insuflBcient  grounds, 
indeed,  to  convince  a  man  of  honor,  but  quite  sufficient  for 
a  petifogging  lawyer  and  an  unprincipled  claimant.  The 
rest  of  the  papers  consisted  of  a  letter  from  the  squire  of 
Gilham.  He  stated  that  he  saw  no  reason  for  departing  from 
his  determination — taken  on  the  occasion  of  your  father's 
marriage.  It  was  a  churlish  letter,  and  revealed  all  the  bit- 
terness of  an  old  grudge.  There  were  the  Portsmouth  letters 
and  the  newspaper  paragraphs  relative  to  your  father's  mode 
of  death,  which,  if  suicide,  was  so  cleverly  contrived  to  seem 
accident.  They  were  of  no  value  to  Charlie,  save  in  connec- 
tion with  the  rest." 

The  young  man  remained  plunged  in  reflection.  He  knew 
the  worst,  that  was  a  relief;  and  the  worst,  after  all,  resolved 
itself  into  two  facts ;  that  his  parents  had  quarreled,  and  that 
his  father  had  committed  suicide — painful  facts  for  their 
son  to  have  to  learn,  but  by  no  means  such  as  could,  with- 
out willful  distortion,  be  made  to  impugn  his  mother's  honor 
and  his  right  to  his  name. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  at  length;  "you  have  been  as  frank 
as  you  have  been  kind.  I  do  not  deny  that,  however  great  a 
blow  the  story  of  my  father's  death  must  be  to  me,  I  am  re- 
lieved to  find  these  proofs  of  Charlie's  contained  nothing 
worse.  Indeed,"  he  added,  smiling,  "I  have  had  so  many  blows 
lately  that  I  think  I  am  rather  hardened  to  them  now.  We 
had  better  go  out  and  get  our  lunch  over,  or  we  shall  not  be 
back  for  the  claimant.    I  say  we,  though  I  really  dg  uqX 


Scylla.  175 


know.  Colonel  Fargus,  if  this  time  the  interview  had  not  bet- 
ter be  a  tete-a-tete  between  the  prinepals." 

"What,  discard  your  legal  adviser  already  ?" 

"I  should  like  to  have  you.  I  was  only  thinking  of  expe- 
diency." 

"Do  you  think  your  cousin  would  absolutely  object  ?"  asked 
Fargus.  "I  do  not  mind  that  in  the  least.  If  Mr.  Hillyard 
is  ashamed  to  say  before  a  third  person  what  must  be  blazoned 
before  the  world  if  he  gain  his  object,  down  goes  that  in  my 
black  book  as  another  mark  against  him.  Lewis,  I  cannot 
abandon  you  at  this  moment.  You  will  scarcely  be  able  to 
meet  that  cold-blooded  relative  on  an  equal  footing,  though 
you  have  the  whip  hand  of  him.  Impulsive  natures  are  at  a 
disadvantage  on  such  occasions.  Therefore,  unless  you  say 
in  so  many  words  that  you  have  a  personal  objection  to  it,  I 
shall  see  you  through  the  business  to  the  end." 

"Very  well,  then — that  is  settled,"  said  Lewis,  simply. 

As  the  father  and  son  were  entering  the  coffee-room  of  the 
Bell,  in  quest  of  the  midday  meal,  Charles  Hillyard,  sitting 
in  that  sanctum  of  legal  learning,  was  concluding,  for  the 
benefit  of  its  owner,  the  account  of  his  recent  journey. 

"No  doubt,"  remarked  the  solicitor  after  some  reflection, 
apparently  devoted  to  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  the  narra- 
tive, "we  cannot  blind  ourselves  to  the  fact  that  we  have 
as  yet  failed  to  get  hold  of  the  proof  positive  we  wanted, 
however  morally  convincing  the  evidence  you  possess  is.  All 
things  considered,  if  you  feel  yourself  equal  to  carrying  it 
through  with  the  necessary  ease,  that  personal  interview  you 
spoke  of  undertaking  to-day  might  lead  to  a  private  agree- 
ment which  would  simplify  matters.  You  can  represent  to 
the  young  man  how  immensely  to  his  advantage  it  will  be 
to  avoid  the  scandal  of  a  public  trial. 

"We  received  your  dispatch-box.  Do  you  contemplate  tak- 
ing these  important  documents  with  you  this  afternoon  ?" 

"Of  course  not,"  answered  Charles.  "I  have  with  me  the 
copies  I  made  myself  and  which  I  showed  you,  which  will  be 
quite  sufficient  for  the  occasion.  But  I  suppose  Mr.  Kerr 
will  want  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  their  genuineness,  and  that 
he  must  do  here." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  con- 
fess that  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  you  could  confide  a 
matter  of  such  importance  to  a  person  like  Miss  Wren.  She 
placidly  admitted  that  it  was  only  when  you  wrote  again 
from  abroad  that  she  was  reminded  of  her  promise." 

Here  the  old  gentleman  suddenly  came  to  a  standstill,  and 
gave  a  piizzled,  not  to  say  anxious,  look  at  his  client's  dark- 
ening face. 


176  Scylla. 

"This  is  very  odd !"  proceeded  the  legal  luminary.  "I  never 
thought  of  it  till  this  moment.  Miss  Wren  certainly  gave  me 
to  understand  that  in  that  very  letter  you  expressed  yourself 
extremely  satisfied  with  the  progress  of  your  business  in 
Spain." 

Charles  started  from  his  abstraction  and  shot  an  angry 
glance  at  the  speaker. 

"That  is  impossible!    I  never  mentioned  about  it." 

"I  cannot  have  been  mistaken,"  murmured  the  other.  "Am 
I  not  correct,  also,  in  believing  that  you  desired  me  to  take 
the  opportunity  afforded  to  broach  the  subject  it  was  ar- 
ranged I  should  settle  with  her  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Charles,  with  increasing  surprise. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  the  lawyer,  "allow  me  to  remark  that 
it  is  you  who  have  been  premature  in  your  manner  of  deal- 
ing with  this  person.  Whether  she  had  some  inkling  of  your 
proposed  generosity  to  her  and  wished  to  secure  it,  she  told 
me  that  in  your  letter  from  Spain  you  had  most  expressly  re- 
quested her  to  come  to  me." 

"I  told  her  to  go  to  you  with  the  box,  of  course,"  said 
Charles,  "nothing  more.  So  you  told  her  all  about  it.  Well, 
you  had  no  end  of  a  scene." 

"She  took  the  news  with  perfect  composure,  and  seemed, 
indeed,  very  much  gratified  and  impressed  by  the  figure  of 
your  intended  annuity.  Of  course,  she  knows  that  nothing 
is  yet  settled,  but  she  left  with  the  promise  to  think  over  the 
matter  on  her  side." 

Charles  Hillyard's  face,  instead  of  clearing  during  this 
soothing  speech,  grew  blacker  and  blpcker  as  it  proceeded. 
"So  she  agreed  ?"  he  asked  abruptly  at  its  conclusion. 

"Practically,  my  dear  sir." 

"Without  a  protest?    Without  wanting  to  see  me?" 

"With  the  most  absolute  coolness." 

For  a  minute  or  two  the  young  man  remained  absorbed  in 
thought.  Then  he  seemed  to  come  to  some  settled  conclu- 
sion, and  suddenly  his  scowling  brow  lightened. 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  as  well  so;  I  am  surprised.  But  the 
deed  being  done  beyond  undoing,  I  hope  I  may  find  it  for 
the  best,  after  all.  It  had  to  be  done  some  time.  I  confess," 
he  went  on,  with  a  short  laugh,  "I  expected  more  trouble 
than  that ;  but,  as  you  remarked  with  true  wisdom,  there  are 
few  wounds  to  people's  feelings  which  money  cannot  heal. 
And  now,"  he  added,  taking  up  his  hat,  "I  see  your  clock 
points  to  the  quarter ;  I  must  be  off — I  am  due  at  Staple  Inn 
at  three." 

"Then  you  do  not  wish  me  to  accompany  you?"  asked  the 
lawyer. 


Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Ceise.    177 

"I  think  not;  I  know  my  soi-disant  cousin  by  heart,  and 
I  shall  be  able  to  lay  the  siege  against  his  weak  side  all  the 
better  for  being  alone.  I  hope  to  let  you  know  to-morrow 
that  he  has  proved  amenable  to  reason." 

Thus  spoke  Mr.  Hillyard  with  careless  confidence. 

But  when  he  had  reached  the  top  landing  of  the  set  of 
stairs  leading  to  Lewis'  high-perched  chambers  for  a  mo- 
ment he  found  himself  wishing  that  he  had  indeed  deputed 
the  disinterested  man  of  law  to  manage  this  cold  business 
now  with  friend,  even  as  with  mistress.  But  with  Charles 
Hillyard  hesitation  was  a  weakness  of  invariably  short  dura- 
tion. 

He  knocked,  and  following  the  invitation  to  come  in, 
opened  the  door  and  was  confronted  by  Colonel  Fargus,  who 
greeted  the  visitor  with  a  cold,  dry  smile. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CHARLES  HILLYARD   EXPOUNDS   HIS  CASE. 

The  meeting  was  so  absolutely  unexpected,  withal  so  par- 
ticularly undesirable,  Mr.  Hillyard  halted  in  blank  am.aze- 
ment. 

"Colonel  Fargus !"  he  ejaculated  in  tones  too  spontaneous 
to  express  aught  but  the  most  unmitigated  surpise  and  an- 
noyance. 

Fargus  met  the  suspicious  glance  which  accompanied  his 
handsome  nepheVs  exclamation  with  one  In  which  a  cer- 
tain enjoyment  of  the  situation  was  blended  vdth  very  dis- 
tinct disfavor. 

"How  do  you  do  ?"  he  said  quietly,  crossing  his  arms  as  he 
spoke,  as  if  to  obviate  the  necessity  of  offering  his  hand. 

The  occasions  were  few,  indeed,  on  which  Charles  Hillyard 
had  ever  been  discomposed  by  such  keen  yet  seemingly  fool- 
ish vexation.  The  unreasoned  antipathy  he  felt  for  the  trans- 
atlantic lion  whom  his  simple  Woldham  friends  had  pro- 
moted on  so  short  an  acquaintance  to  so  high  a  place  in  their 
esteem  was  unaccountable,  even  to  his  most  secret  self,  but 
none  the  less  real. 

As  promptly  discarding  all  outward  semblance  of  perturba- 
tion, he  was  inwardly  resolving  to  get  rid  of  the  unwelcome 
third  as  speedily  as  possible. 

Lewis  had  not  spoken.  Leaning  against  the  high  mantel- 
piece, he  stood  motionless,  sternly  facing  the  visitor,  with- 
out attempting  the  smallest  advance. 


178    Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case, 

Charles,  though  he  had,  of  course,  realized  that,  warned 
of  the  object  of  his  interview,  Lewis  would  meet  him  in  no 
conciliatory  modd,  was  not  prepared  for  such  determined 
enmity  as  was  here  displayed.  Without  other  reason  than 
his  prejudice,  he  connected  this  unexpected  dignity  of  anger 
with  the  presence  of  Fargus. 

Nodding  to  Lewis,  he  addressed  him  with  a  coolness  born  as 
much  of  his  habitual  and  almost  tmconscious  contempt  for 
him  as  of  the  combative  feelings  caused  by  Fargus'  prox- 
imity. 

"I  understood  from  your  telegram  that  you  meant  me  to 
come  here  to-day,  Lewis;  and  I  thought  I  would  find  you 
alone.  I  fear  I  have  disturbed  you  tete-a-tete  with  Colonel 
Fargus,"  turning  to  the  latter  with  that  affection  of  pleas- 
antness which  is  popularly  described  as  "from  the  teeth  out." 

"Not  at  all,"  quietly  answered  the  person  referred  to. 

"I  must  say  it  is  most  curious,"  proceeded  Charles,  bestow- 
ing a  keen  look  on  the  mysterious  American,  "to  meet  you 
here,  Colonel,  with  Mr.  Kerr." 

"Really?"  queried  Fargus,  with  gentle  malice. 

Then  there  followed  a  silence  in  the  attic  room,  which,  as 
neither  Fargus  nor  Lewis  was  Vidlling  to  break  it,  fell  awk- 
wardly upon  their  visitor. 

After  standing  for  a  minute  or  two  gazing  from  the 
former's  placid  countenance  to  the  latter's  irate  face,  he 
again  lifted  his  voice  with  a  show  of  insolence  that  betrayed 
his  irritation. 

"Well,  since  you  are  so  pressing,  I  will  take  a  chair. 
Thanks."  And  sitting  down  straddle  legs  on  one  of  the  old 
oak  seats,  he  folded  his  arms  across  the  top  of  its  straight 
back,  and,  looking  up  scrutinizingly  at  his  cousin,  proceeded 
pleasantly:  "What  have  you  been  about?  Where  did  you 
get  that  slash?" 

"A  duel  in  Germany." 

Nothing  repressed  by  the  tone  of  the  reply,  Charles  gave  a 
short,  contemptuous  laugh,  and  went  on  in  the  same  banter- 
ing manner:  "It  is  in  your  Southern  blood,  and  you  cannot 
help  it,  I  suppose — ^but  I  didn't  think — no,  I  did  not  think 
you  were  quite  the  donkey  to  go  on  the  Mensur.  But  there 
is  one  thing  I  am  even  more  curious  to  learn,  and  that  is 
how  the  dickens  you  come  to  be  acquainted  with  our  colonel. 
Have  you  been  to  Gilham  since  your  return  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Lewis,  again  with  the  curtness  that  would 
not  waste  a  word.    "I  met  Colonel  Fargus  in  Germany." 

"In  Germany — in  Germany!  .  .  .  Oh,  I  see,  at  Hom- 
burg,  of  course."  There  was  a  cold  smile  on  Charles'  lips,  a 
slight  arching  of  the  calm  brows,  as  he  spoke,  sufficient  to 


Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case.    179 

point  his  meaning ;  and  Lewis,  more  galled  by  this  than  by  an 
open  taunt,  flushed  crimson,  but  could  not  at  the  moment 
trust  himself  to  speak,  for  the  fierceness  of  his  resentment. 

Once  more  there  came  an  irksome  silence,  and  Charles,  for 
all  his  well-tempered  armor  of  self-control  and  self-esteem, 
found  it  difficult  to  oppose  an  impassible  front  to  the  undis- 
guised hostility  of  the  two  men. 

"At  any  rate,"  he  began  once  more,  this  time  with  some 
sharpness,  "it  cannot  matter  to  me  much,  either  how  you  have 
contrived  to  bring  back  such  a  'Schmiss'  from  your  wild 
expedition  to  Homburg.  But  as  I  am  here  on  business  of  im- 
portance to  myself,  as  well  as  to  you,  Lewis,  it  is,  I  think, 
better  that  we  should  soon  settle  down  to  the  discussion  of  it." 

Neither  Lewis  nor  Fargus  offering  any  deprecation  of  this 
statement,  Mr.  Hillyard  pursued,  after  a  marked  pause: 
"However,  I  do  not  offer  to  withdraw,  considering  that  I  am 
here  by  appointment,  and  that  I  have  already  lost  twenty 
minutes  in  waiting  for  your  leisure." 

"I  beg  to  state,"  said  Lewis,  "that  it  is  I  who  am  waiting." 

Charles'  nostrils  dilated,  and  the  crimson  mounted  to  his 
face. 

"You  force  me,  then,  into  the  position  of  begging  you  to 
dismiss  your  guest.  Pray  forgive  me,  Colonel  Fargus,  for  a 
seeming  discourtesy." 

Despite  his  hard  judgment  on  his  nephew,  Fargus  could  not 
but  admire,  if  only  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view,  the  de- 
termined self-control  of  the  young  man's  manner  in  the  face 
of  such  odds.  "What  a  pity,"  thought  he  to  himself,  as, 
merely  bowing  in  reply,  he  now,  at  a  sign  from  his  son,  ad- 
vanced to  the  table  and  took  a  seat  thereat. 

"Whatever  you  may  have  to  say  to  me,  Charles,"  said 
Lewis,  without  stirring  from  the  position  he  had  taken  from 
the  first,  "say  it  now,  before  Colonel  Fargus,  who  has  my 
full  confidence  in  this  matter,  and  upon  whose  advice  I  am 
determined  to  act  in  all  that  regards  it." 

Charles'  brow  darkened.  His  weak-minded  cousin  acting 
under  the  advice  of  this  impenetrable,  unaccountable  Ameri- 
can !  What  might  that  portend  ? — no  good,  certainly ;  no  help 
to  the  easy  settlement  of  this  disagreeable  business. 

"This  is  folly,  Lewis,"  he  cried,  in  a  hard  tone.  "I  must 
decline  to  discuss  intimate  matters  before  an  absolute 
stranger." 

"Colonel  Fargus  acts  as  my  legal  adviser  for  the  pres- 
ent," reiterated  Lewis.  There  was  an  ominous  gleam  in  his 
eye. 

"Your  legal  adviser!"  repeated  the  college  Don,  with  an- 
other of  his  quick,  contemptuous  laughs.    "It  is  as  like  you  to 


i8o   Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case. 

make  an  American  colonel  your  adviser  in  a  matter  of  this 
kind,  as  it  is,  when  returning  unscathed  from  serious  war- 
fare, to  seek  the  adornment  of  a  Schlaeger  cut." 

"You  lose,"  thought  Fargus,  as  he  quietly  watched  the 
scene  and  forebore  to  take  notice  in  any  way  of  the  dis- 
paraging allusion  to  himself,  "all  your  advantage,  my  friend, 
as  soon  as  you  release  your  grasp  on  your  temper." 

"I  do  not  suppose,"  resumed  Lewis  doggedly,  "that  your 
purpose  here  to-day  is  to  discuss  my  mental  weaknesses.  I 
tell  you  Colonel  Fargus  remains  by  my  wish ;  I  give  you  the 
opportunity  you  desired  to  speak  with  me  upon  matters  you 
state  to  be  of  importance." 

"You  are  a  fool,  Lewis !"  pronounced  Mr.  Hillyard  slowly. 
"You  are  aware,  I  know,  of  the  present  state  of  affairs,  yet 
would  make  a  man  who  can  only  be  the  most  casual  acquaint- 
ance of  yours  privy  to  what  I  must  say  to  you  to-day." 

"I  am  aware  of  the  true  state  of  affairs." 

Lewis  spoke  quietly  enough,  though  his  mouth  quivered 
with  anger. 

"You  will  repent  your  unwarrantable  offensiveness  to  me, 
and  this  absurdity  in  dragging  a  third  person  into  our  busi- 
ness. I  warn  you  fairly  what  I  must  speak  upon  to-day  will 
be  no  pleasant  hearing  for  you.  However,  a  willful  man,  I 
supiwse,  must  have  his  way." 

Still  Lewis  remained  silent. 

After  a  few  minutes'  impatient  waiting,  Charles  carelessly 
turned  his  back  on  Fargus,  and  observed  in  his  old  patroniz- 
ing manner:  "Seeing  your  present  mood,  it  would  be  idle, 
I  presvune,  to  try  and  convince  you  that  in  this  errand  of 
mine  I  am  really  actuated  to  a  great  extent  by  friendly  feel- 
ings." 

"It  would,"  interrupted  Lewis,  with  a  sweep  of  the  hand. 

"Quite  so.  Yet  it  remains  a  fact  that  in  seeking  a  private 
interview  I  have  been  prompted  mainly  by  the  desire  to  spare 
you  as  much  as  possible,  under  the  circumstances." 

Again  Lewis  vouchsafed  no  reply ;  but  a  tightening  of  the 
lip  and  a  red  flash  of  the  eye  betrayed  how  intensely  his 
cousin's  words  and  manner  tried  his  small  remnant  of  pa- 
tience. 

Charles  paused  as  if  to  select  his  words,  while  his  eyes  mus- 
ingly wandered  over  the  quartered  coat-of-arms  wherein 
Lewis'  family  pretensions  were  blazoned  above  the  portraits 
of  his  father  and  mother.  At  length,  with  a  certain  effort,  he 
began  to  expound  his  case  with  that  thoughtful  choice  of  lan- 
guage so  familiar,  and  once  so  pleasing  to  Lewis. 

"It  may  be  as  well  that  I  should  first  briefly  recapitulate 
the  main  points  in  the  family  history  of  Kerr  of  Gilham 


Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case.    i8i 

which  have  led  to  the  present  deadlock.  Mr.  William  George 
Kerr,  my  grandfather,  whose  death  occurred  in  '46,  had  is- 
sue: by  his  first  wife,  William,  the  late  head  of  the  family; 
by  his  second,  George,  who  died  in  '57,  and  Susan,  my 
mother,  who  died  two  years  ago.  Mr.  William  Kerr,  who 
died  last  July,  had  then  no  issue  living.  The  estate  is  entail 
on  the  heirs  male.  The  question  now  is,  who  is  the  heir-at- 
law?    I  think  this  is  the  case  in  a  nutshell." 

Lewis  nodded  impatiently,  and  Charles  proceeded:  "This 
question  of  heirship  unfortunately  raises  a  point,  which,  but 
for  the  unforeseen  contingency  of  the  imtimely  death,  with- 
out issue  themselves,  of  the  late  squire's  two  sons,  no  one 
would  have  had  any  interest  in  investigating.  And  it  is  the 
strange  irony  of  fate  that  the  task  of  lifting  the  veil  which, 
covers  the  parentage  of  my  old  friend  and  pupil  should  de- 
volve upon  me." 

Tumultuously  Lewis'  heart  began  to  beat;  the  sickening 
slander  was  coming  home  at  last. 

"I  need  hardly  say,  Lewis,"  proceeded  the  speaker,  with  an 
unconscious  deepening  of  his  voice,  "that  it  is  serious  grief 
to  me  to  have  to  say  all  this  to  you.  The  name  which  you 
bear  is  yours  only  by  prescription,  so  to  speak,  and  it  is  my 
painful  task " 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake,"  interrupted  Lewis,  stamping  his  foot 
furiously,  "a  truce  to  your  hypocritical  sympathy !  Since  you 
could  turn  traitor  to  friendship,  have  the  courage  of  your 
opinion — say  your  say,  at  least." 

"This  anger  is  futile,"  answered  Charles,  "and  unjust,  too. 
I  may  appear  selfish  in  insisting,  as  I  mean  to  do,  on  my 
legal  and  moral  right.  Granted.  It  is,  I  repeat,  almost  en- 
tirely for  your  sake  I  wish  the  case  to  be  kept  from  a  court 
of  law,  where  I  should  have  to  assert  my  claim  without 
mincing  matters,  and  where  the  fact  would  be  made  brutally 
public  that  you  cannot  prove  yourself  to  be  the  son  of  the 
late  George  Kerr  and  that  I  can  prove  the  contrary." 

"Charles  Hillyard,  you  are  a  liar  as  well  as  a  hypocrite  and 
traitor!" 

Fargus'  strong  arm  was  in  an  instant  interposed  between 
Lewis'  furious  gesture  of  menace  and  the  motionless  figure 
of  the  visitor. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  with  kind  severity,  "you  are  now 
putting  yourself  in  the  wrong.  Better  let  me  conduct  this 
business  for  you." 

Charles  had  not  stirred  a  muscle  under  his  cousin's  threat- 
ened onslaught,  but  his  face  had  hardened  into  colder  con- 
tempt; when  Lewis,  yielding  to  the  firmness  of  Fargus'  hand. 


i83    Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case. 

resumed  his  place,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  latter,  and 
said,  with  a  sarcastic  smile: 

"I  see  now  that  my  old  pupil  has  done  wisely,  after  all,  in 
taking  you  as  adviser  in  this  affair.  You  Americans  are 
proverbially  cool-headed.  Colonel  Fargus.  I  now  agree  with 
you  in  thinking  that  it  may  be  as  well  if  our  friend  will  leave 
you  to  act  for  him  in  an  affair  he  is  so  evidently  unfit  to  man- 
age himself." 

"You  hear,  Lewis,"  said  Fargus,  resuming  his  seat  in  the 
arm-chair,  and  half  turning  to  his  son.  "Will  you  retire 
pro  tempore  figuratively  into  the  background,  and  trust  me  to 
discuss  Mr.  Hillyard's  business  with  him  ?" 

"Pray  do,"  said  Lewis;  "you  know  I  have  given  you  a 
moral  power  of  attorney." 

"Then,  sir,  I  am  at  your  service,"  turning  again  toward 
Charles,  who  promptly  resumed  the  thread  of  his  exposition. 

"I  said  that  I  had  the  proofs  in  my  possession  that  my 
friend  here,  Lewis,  was  not  the  son  of  George  Kerr,  and,  in 
consequence,  not  the  heir-at-law.  Here  they  are."  And  he 
placed  a  bundle  of  papers  on  the  table  by  his  side. 

"In  1856,"  proceeded  Charles,  "George  Kerr  married,  at 
Seville,  Dona  Carmen  de  Ayala.  They  lived  together,  I 
gather  from  the  dates,  one  year  and  a  day,  so  unhappily  that 
at  last,  after  making  a  shocking  discovery  concerning  his 
wife's  conduct,  George  Kerr  left  her  and  committed  suicide." 

Lewis'  face  became  ashen.  It  was  hard,  even  after  all 
Fargus'  careful  preparation,  to  have  to  hear  attacked  the 
honor  of  the  woman  who  had  borne  him  and  not  smite  the 
slanderer  to  earth.  He  clenched  his  fist  and  turned  his  eyes 
slowly  toward  Fargus,  but  meeting  the  same  grave  and  con- 
fident smile  as  heretofore,  took  courage  from  it  for  further 
self-control  and  patience. 

"Yes?"  said  Fargus,  as  he  bent  toward  Charles  Hillyard. 
The  latter  had  paused.  Surprised  at  the  silence,  he  turned 
sharply,  to  catch  the  mute  intercourse  between  the  two  men. 

"Yes — and  then  ?"  asked  Colonel  Fargus. 

"Then,  Mrs.  George  Kerr  returned  immediately  to  her 
country,  and  in  the  natural  course  of  time  her  child  was 
bom.  That  child  was  christened  Luis  Jorge  Kerr.  The 
squire,  at  Gilham,  refused  steadily  to  recognize  him.  My 
father,  moved  by  feelings  of  benevolence,  and  prevailed  upon 
by  my  mother,  who  loved  to  imagine  that  something  was  left 
in  this  world  of  her  dead  brother,  accepted  the  office  of  guar- 
dian to  the  young  outlander,  while  I  became,  out  of  personal 
liking,  as  they  say,  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend." 

Here  Charles  stopped  again,  as  if  waiting  for  objections. 

"That  is  not  all,  surely,"  said  Fargus. 


Charles  Hilly ard  Expounds  His  Case.    183 

"Of  course  that  is  not  all.  It  is,  so  to  speak,  the  broad 
sketch." 

"Thus  far,"  said  Fargus,  composedly,  "the  story  is  one  of 
a  man  who,  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  is  alleged  to  have  com- 
mitted suicide  because  he  was  not  happy  with  the  foreign 
woman  he  had  married,  and  of  his  posthumous  son,  who  had 
one  bad  uncle  and  one  good  one,  after  the  fashion  of  fairy 
tales.  You  will  be  able  to  prove,  I  suppose,  that  George 
Kerr  had  positive  cause  to  suspect  his  wife;  secondly,  that 
his  death  really  was  the  result  of  suicide,  not  accident,  as 
reported  by  the  papers  at  the  time;  thirdly,  that  his  suicide, 
if  suicide  there  was,  was  brought  about  by  horror  at  his 
wife's  behavior;  lastly,  that  the  posthumous  child  could  not 
by  any  possibility  be  his  son.  Unless  you  can  prove  all  that, 
your  story  would  hardly  be  adequate  to  support  your  im- 
portant claim.    You  have,  of  course,  more  facts  in  reserve  ?" 

"It  is  quite  a  pity  you  were  not  a  lawyer.  Colonel  Far- 
gus," said  Charles,  with  mocking  admiration.  "I  have  facts 
in  reserve.  I  can  prove,  to  the  hilt,  almost  every  one  of  the 
points  you  have  raised.  Of  the  excessively  unhappy  life  led 
by  George  Kerr  and  his  wife,  and  of  the  last  scene  between 
them,  evidently  brought  about  by  the  discovery  which  led  to 
his  flying  a  dishonored  house,  I  have  sufficient  testimony, 
having  found  some  of  the  servants  who  were  at  that  time  in 
George  Kerr's  employment.  But  in  this  case  personal  evi- 
dence is  not  even  required,  as  there  is  extant  a  letter  from 
George  Kerr  himself  which  shows  explicitly  that  his  life  with 
his  wife  was  miserable,  and  further  points  to  one  particular, 
unpardonable  offense,  which  has  driven  him  in  disgust  to 
make  away  with  himself.  In  further  proof  of  the  question  of 
suicide  is  the  summary  of  the  inquiry  into  the  alleged  acci- 
dent, if  it  be  read  in  the  light  afforded  by  the  dead  man's 
letter.  And,  finally,  there  is  Mrs.  Kerr's  own  letter  to  my 
mother,  in  which,  at  the  same  time,  she  admits  her  guilt  and 
announces  it  as  the  cause  of  her  husband's  death.  There  is 
no  actual  proof  that  Lewis  cannot  be  the  child  of  that  union 
— for  he  was  born  in  March,  1858,  while  his  putative  father 
died  in  the  month  of  July  preceding — but,  unfortunately  for 
him,  two  passages  in  the  existing  documents  fill  up  the 
lacunes.  In  one  of  them  George  Kerr  writes :  'Thank  God, 
we  have  no  children.'  In  the  other  Mrs.  Kerr,  struck  with 
remorse,  admits:  'I  know  I  have  been  guilty  towards  him.' 
Lastly,  I  can  prove  from  various  letters  written  by  the  late 
Mr.  Kerr  to  my  father,  that  the  belief  in  the  illegitimacy  of 
this  boy  born  in  foreign  parts  was  shared  by  all  his  English 
relations,  except,  as  I  have  said,  my  mother." 
,    "Before  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Hillyard,"  said  Fargus,  "how  these 


184   Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case. 

documents — the  most  important  of  which  undoubtedly  should, 
by  rights,  have  been  surrendered  long  ago  to  my  friend — 
have  come  into  your  hands,  I  should  like  to  know  how  you 
propose  to  prove  their  authenticity  ?" 

"Upon  my  word,  Colonel,"  exclaimed  Charles,  with  a 
laugh,  "one  might  almost  imagine  that  you  had  prepared  the 
defense  at  leisure,  so  methodically  do  you  survey  my  means 
of  attack." 

Fargus  answered  with  a  grave  inclination  of  the  head. 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question,"  said  he. 

"Your  objection  was  so  very  obvious.  Their  authenticity 
can,  of  course,  be  established  beyond  doubt.  My  uncle's 
handwriting  and  my  father's  are  easily  verifiable.  There 
was  at  first  a  certain  difficulty  in  connection  with  that  of  the 
late  George  Kerr;  but  it  was  found  that  his  last  will  was 
holograph,  that  it  was  proved,  and '  is,  of  course,  accessible 
to  experts.  As  to  Mrs.  Kerr's  letters,  I  will  now  inform  you 
that  I  have  just  returned  from  Spain,  whither  I  went  to 
verify  certain  data — among  others,  the  handwriting  of  Lewis' 
mother.  I  obtained  leave  to  take  away  sundry  old  letters, 
photographs  of  which  I  can  let  you  see  whenever  you  wish." 

"What  would  those  courteous  Spanish  people  say  to  that 
sample  of  an  English  gentleman's  conduct,"  put  in  Lewis, 
scornfully,  "could  they  but  have  known  your  purpose?" 

"Their  thoughts  on  the  subject  would  cause  me  little  con- 
cern.   Does  not  your  church  teach  that?" 

"Your  knowledge  of  the  rules  of  my  religion  is  as  insuffi- 
cient, Charles,  as  your  conception  of  the  rules  of  honor,"  said 
Lewis,  in  icy  tones.  "You  have  obtained  some  of  my  mother's 
letters  by  means  of  lies  worthy  of  a  private  detective,  not  of 
a  gentleman;  just  as  you  have  retained,  for  your  own  pur- 
pose, papers  which  belonged  to  me — which,  plainly  worded, 
is  theft." 

"Lewis,"  said  Fargus,  "let  me  again  entreat  you  not  to 
speak  another  word.  This  is  a  consultation.  We  shall  waste 
much  of  our  purpose  if  you  condescend  to  angry  recrimina- 
tion, however  true  what  you  say  may  be,  and  however  justified 
you  may  be  in  saying  it." 

Charles  felt  the  backhander  more  keenly  under  the  dis- 
passionate form  in  which  it  was  administered  that  the  angry 
insult  of  his  poor  cousin ;  but,  without  changing  his  manner, 
he  said  very  quietly: 

"After  this  little  expression  of  opinion  on  my  character,  I 
shotdd  be  quite  justified  in  abandoning  my  present  friendly 
intentions,  and  in  letting  matters  go  through  the  regular 
channels,  with  all  its  consequent  publicity.    But,  having 


Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case.    185 

gone  so  far  through  an  exceedingly  unpleasant  ordeal,  I 
consider  it  worth  my  while  to  see  it  to  the  end." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Fargus;  "but  as  the 
unparliamentary  expressions  were  on  our  side,  would  it  not 
be  advisable  for  you  to  explain  how  you  have  come  into  the 
possession  of  things  which  we  might  claim  as  our  own?" 

"I  have  no  objections,"  said  Charles,  carelessly.  "My  uncle, 
William  Kerr,  gave  the  papers  to  me,  or,  rather,  directed  me 
where  and  how  to  get  them,  before  he  died.  He  recovered 
consciousness  toward  the  middle  of  the  night,"  he  added  to 
Fargus,  as  if  anticipating  an  objection,  "for  half  an  hour  or 
so.  He  was  terribly  babbling,  but  he  was  able  to  make  his 
meaning  clear  through  sheer  determination.  I  confess  I  had 
been  thinking  somewhat  of  the  succession  myself,  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  emphasis  with  which  he  said,  *No 
bastard  here.' " 

"And  how  could  the  squire  come  into  the  possession  of 
these  unlawful  goods?"  asked  Fargus. 

"The  squire  was  my  father's  executor,  and  must  have  found 
this  bundle  among  my  father's  papers.  They  were  addressed 
to  Lewis,  with  a  letter  in  my  father's  hand,  but  unsealed. 
He  always  had  a  deep  resentment  against  Lewis,  and  it  was 
a  sore  point  with  him  that  my  father  and  mother  should 
receive  him  as  they  did." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  Lewis,  in  a  low  voice,  "if  you  consider 
you  have  also  a  right  to  your  father's  letter  to  me — ^whether 
you  read  it,  and  mean  to  keep  it  to  use  against  me  ?" 

"I  most  certainly  read  the  letter,  and  I  should  use  it  were 
it  likely  to  prove  of  any  use  to  me.  I  do  not  in  the  least  at- 
tempt to  deny  it,  but  I  am  quite  certain,  on  the  other  hand, 
that,  could  he  have  foreseen  the  death  of  both  the  direct 
heirs,  he  would  have  felt  bound  to  make  use  of  them  him- 
self and  assure  the  succession  to  the  legitimate  heir." 

"Surmises  as  to  the  probable  conduct  of  Lewis'  late  g:uar- 
dian  are  useless  as  evidence,"  interposed  Fargus,  anxious  to 
forestall  his  son's  reply;  "and  it  remains  a  fact,  Mr.  Hill- 
yard,  that  you  have  unlawfully  appropriated  letters  for  the 
purpose  of  damaging  their  rightful  owner  and  advancing 
your  private  interests.  You  are  wise,  certainly,  as  far  as 
your  own  interests  are  concerned,  in  desiring  to  avoid  pub- 
licity." 

"My  dear  sir,"  returned  Charles  in  a  bland  voice,  "I  am 
not  in  the  least  afraid  of  the  world's  verdict  any  more  than 
of  the  jury's.  But  I  believe,"  he  added,  wtih  a  cynical  smile, 
"the  world  would  not  be  hard  on  the  successful  claimant." 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Fargus,  feeling  an  uprising  of  anger 
hard  to  conceal,  "X  am  0x19  with  70U  in  dosiring  to  avoid  the  > 


1 86    Charles  Hilly ard  Expounds  His  Case. 

open  scandal.  I  presume  that  you  have  now  adverted  to 
every  proof  you  possess  of  the  irrefragable  character  of  your 
claim." 

"I  have." 

"And  you  hold  there  copies  of  all  important  documents  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Charles  after  a  pause,  devoted  to  the  endeavor 
to  understand  the  drift  of  this  question. 

"Very  good.     What  have  you  got  to  propose  to  him  ?" 

"First,"  said  Charles,  "that  he  should  read  the  attested 
copies,  which  I  shall  have  prepared  and  sent  to-morrow. 
Then,  if  he  should  wish  to  see  the  originals,  that  he  should 
call  at  my  solicitor's  and  satisfy  himself,  and  if  he  comes  to 
the  conclusion  that  his  chances  of  establishing  his  legitimacy 
are  too  slender  to  justify  his  risking  an  action  in  defense, 
that  he  should  come  to  an  agreement,  resigning  his  claim. 
I  may  point  out  how  excessively  damaging  such  a  public  trial 
would  be  to  him  in  his  regiment  if  he  fails." 

"Thank  you  for  your  forethought,"  said  Lewis,  endeavor- 
ing to  conceal,  under  an  ironical  smile,  how  sore  a  point 
this  reference  to  his  beloved  regiment  touched  upon.  "Let 
me  repeat  your  own  words,  and  that  with  a  clearer  conscience. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  publicity." 

Fargus,  with  a  warning  glance  at  the  young  man,  again 
interposed  his  quiet  voice: 

"You  have  no  objection,  I  presume,  to  allow  me  to  ex- 
amine these  wonderful  documents  ?"  he  asked  of  Charles,  who 
in  reply  handed  him  the  parcel. 

Fargus  withdrew  near  the  window  and  silently  proceeded 
to  read  them.  Lewis  watched  him  at  first  in  some  surprise, 
but  remembering  the  promise  made  to  Miss  Wren,  and 
thought  he  understood  the  menoeuvre,  though  it  somewhat 
grated  upon  his  particular  ethics. 

At  length  the  reader  looked  up.  His  task  was  completed. 
The  papers  contained  an  accurate  copy  of  those  which  he  had 
destroyed  the  night  before;  there  was  nothing  new  in  them 
save  some  marginal  hieroglyphics  in  shorthand,  evidently 
added  by  Charles  as  memoranda  for  his  own  use. 

"Did  I  understand  you  to  say  you  had  no  other  copy?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Hillyard ;  "this  is  the  only  one  for  the 
present.  You  would,  I  suppose,  like  to  keep  it,  but  I  should 
prefer  you  to  have  one  that  is  properly  certified." 

"One  moment,"  said  Fargus,  reflectively,  and  he  walked 
across  the  room  to  Lewis,  who  made  way  for  him  on  the 
hearth. 

"Lewis,  you  have  deputed  me  to  act  for  you,"  he  said, 
gravely,  to  his  son. 


Charles  Hillyard  Expounds  His  Case.    187 

Then,  as  both  men  stood  watching  him  with  some  surprise, 
he  deliberately  turned  round,  threw  the  parcel  at  the  back 
of  the  grate,  and  planted  himself  before  the  fire,  in  an  atti- 
tude which  seemed  quietly  to  defy  interference,  while  the 
leaping  flames  toyed  with  and  licked  their  new  prey,  and, 
soaring,  flashed  with  it  into  nothingness. 

Lewis  who  had  made  a  quick  gesture  as  if  to  prevent  the 
deed,  at  a  look  from  Fargus  restrained  himself,  and  took  a 
hasty  turn  round  the  room  in  a  high  state  of  perturbation. 
Charles  remained  motionless,  but  the  first  unmitigated  as- 
tonishment upon  his  face  merged  into  open  and  somewhat 
irritated  contempt. 

"This  behavior.  Colonel  Fargus,  I  might  have  expected 
from  one  of  Lewis'  stamp,  but  hardly  from  you.  Did  I  not 
distinctly  state  that  these  papers  were  only  copies?  If,  in- 
deed, I  had  been  foolish  enough  to  bring  the  originals,  such 
a  stratagem  would  have  been  treacherous,  but  at  least  com- 
prehensible." 

"Mr.  Hillyard,"  answered  Fargus  in  his  tranquil  way, 
though  there  was  just  the  suggestion  of  an  irrepressible 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  "I  never  pretended  to  be  other  than 
mortal  man,  and  mortal  man,  you  know,  is  liable  to  error. 
I  regret  to  have  fallen  in  your  estimation.  May  it  console 
you,  for  having  had  to  behold  such  an  instance  of  human 
weakness,  to  reflect  that,  at  any  rate,  it  has  been  futile  as  far 
as  you  are  concerned." 

Charles  now  got  up.    There  was  an  ugly  look  on  his  face. 

"I  do  not  understand  you.  Colonel  Fargus,"  he  said  inso- 
lently. "Good-by,  Lewis.  Take  my  advice;  to-morrow  you 
shall  have  these  papers;  read  them  yourself  and  judge  for 
yourself,  and  do  not  hand  over  your  will  and  conscience  into 
the  keeping  of  this" — here  the  speaker  measured  Fargus  with 
a  cold,  challenging  glance,  and  paused — "this  disinterested, 
brand-new  friend  of  yours." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Hillyard,"  said  Fargus.  "We  shall  meet 
again,  I  daresay,  when  I  hope  I  may  not  have  the  misfor- 
tune to  find  so  much  disfavor  in  your  eyes.  I  go  back  to 
my  Lone  Grange  to-morrow.  Perhaps  we  may  meet  down 
there." 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

CHARYBDIS. 

The  sun  had  just  cleared  the  golden  belt  of  mist  on  the 
horizon;  emerald-tinted  gleamed  the  crest  of  the  wooded 
slopes  of  Gilham,  while  the  hollow  folds  of  the  land  still  lay- 
in  glaucous  shadow. 

Alone  in  the  midst  of  his  lonely  demesne  stood  Fargus, 
and  watched  with  delight  the  secrets  of  morning  unfolding, 
and  blushing,  and  ripening.  Unable  in  his  solitude  to  use 
that  precious  power  by  which  man  can  relieve  the  over- 
pressure of  his  mind,  and  communicate  of  his  joy  or  sorrow 
to  fellow-man,  he  had  risen  with  the  birds  to  seek  the  ever- 
ready  companionship  of  nature  and  the  freedom  of  air  and 
space. 

He  had  taken  his  gun,  almost  mechanically,  from  the  rack 
as  he  passed  out,  and  swung  a  cartridge-belt  over  his  shoulder. 
But  the  innocent  blood  of  the  wild  things  of  moor  and  brush- 
wood was  not  to  lie  on  his  soul  that  morn. 

Crushing  the  heather  beneath  his  feet,  dashing  the  dew 
sparkles  from  gorse  and  juniper  bush,  the  man  tramped  on- 
ward, following  his  thought,  till  his  aimless  march  brought 
him  to  the  crest  of  an  almost  imperceptible  rising  sweep  of 
ground,  whence  the  eye  dominated  a  wide  stretch  of  country. 
To  the  south,  beneath  him,  on  ever-deepening  levels,  belted  in 
by  stripes  of  solemn  firs,  by  rolling  masses  of  yellowing  tim- 
ber, by  horizon  waves  of  faint  blue  mountains,  lay  the  rich 
meadows  of  Gilham,  the  prosperous  village  dominated  by  the 
single  tower  of  the  Court,  proudly  upreared  above  the  trees. 

Fargus  let  his  eyes  roam  from  that  distant  joyful  glint  to 
the  cold  thin  line  of  the  empty  flagstaff  over  the  Court  tower, 
and  his  heart  grew  warm  with  a  presentiment  of  coming  good. 

Anxious  to  be  ready  with  some  news  against  his  guest's 
arrival,  anent  that  dear  wish  of  his  soul,  the  father,  on  the 
first  afternoon  after  his  home-coming,  had  hied  him  to  Wold- 
ham,  intent  on  reconnoitering  how  the  land  lay  there.  Maude 
was  away — a  cause  of  great  regret — on  a  visit  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  not  expected  back  for  a  few  days ;  but 
the  General  was  at  home  and  unaffectedly  delighted  to  see 
his  friend,  and  in  the  untidy  smoking-room,  amid,  the  pipes 
and  guns  and  sport  trophies,  they  had  had  a  lengthy  talk.  From 
almost  the  first  words  spoken  it  had  been  evident  to  Fargus 
that,  as  far  at  least  as  the  old  man  was  concerned,  he  had 
misjudged  Charles,  and  that  no  misrepresentation  had  been 


CHarybdis.  189 

made  here  to  blight  Lewis'  position.  General  Woldham  was 
quite  eager  to  speak  of  the  "young  squire,"  delighted  and 
amazed  to  hear  that  Fargus  had  already  made  acquaintance 
with  him,  and  excited  beyond  measure  by  a  graphic  account 
of  the  duel  and  its  results.  His  pipe  went  out,  his  blue  eyes, 
bright  and  keen  as  steel,  sparkled  and  danced  under  the 
bushy  white  brows,  while  the  most  complete  assortment  of 
snorts  and  sniffs  were  produced  to  punctuate  the  visitor's 
deliberate  narrative  of  the  encounter,  the  flight  across  the 
hills,  and  the  fever  episode  in  Brussels.  The  old  soldier,  of 
course,  was  bound  to  some  highly  proper  indignation  on  the 
subject  of  dueling  itself,  and  vowed  he  would  give  Mr.  Kerr 
a  piece  of  his  mind  about  his  folly,  and  pished  and  pshawed 
at  the  description  of  the  subaltern's  scarred  face;  but  he 
asked  for  a  second  description  of  the  fight,  insisted  on  an 
illustration  of  the  bouts,  to  Fargus'  great  amusement,  with 
the  help  of  a  crop  and  a  walking-stick,  and  there  was  an  ir- 
repressible chuckle  somewhere  subterraneously  and  a  certain 
unctuous  gloating  over  the  detail  of  blows  exchanged,  and 
the  foreigner's  final  undoing,  which  would  not  have  deceived 
a  child  as  to  the  nature  of  his  real  feelings. 

And  after  that  the  General  had  gone  on  to  talk  about 
Lewis  and  the  old  days,  and  his  affection  for  him ;  and  roused 
into  greater  unreserve  by  Fargus'  tactful  guidance,  there  had 
escaped  from  his  lips  a  phrase  which  caused  the  other  father 
a  warm  pleasure.  "Upon  his  word,"  he  had  said,  "he  did  not 
know,  after  all,  any  one  he  would  desire  more  as  mate  for  his 
Maude." 

"I  used  to  think  they  fancied  each  other.  Certainly 
Maude  does  not  care  for  any  one  else — at  any  rate,  she  has 
refused  offer  after  offer,  and  good  fellows,  too.  I  don't  say 
that  I  was  very  sorry,  for  I  can't  spare  my  girl  easily,  you 
know,  Fargus.  But,  by  Jove!  when  I  heard  our  fine  young 
gentleman  had  flown  abroad  instead  of  coming  here,  as  he 
should  have  done,  I  made  sure  I  knew  what  he  had  gone  for. 
But  it  seem's  I'm  all  at  sea.  My  girl  came  back  with  never 
a  word  about  him,  and  now  you  tell  me  he  was  quietly  re- 
visiting the  scenes  of  his  student  days  at  Heidelberg.  Can't 
make  out  what  you  were  all  posting-off  to  Germany  for,  when 
Lewis  ought  to  have  been  at  Gilham." 

"I  daresay  Mr.  Kerr  will  explain,"  had  answered  Fargus, 
careful  to  conceal  the  satisfaction  which  the  beginning  of 
the  General's  speech  had  caused  him,  and  keeping  his  own 
counsel  in  face  of  the  very  natural  exasperation  which 
marked  the  end.  "Young  men  are  erratic  at  times :  I  do  not 
pretend  to  understand  them.    All  I  can  tell  you  about  Lewis 


190  Charybdis. 


Kerr  is  that  I  found  him  a  plucky  fellow  and  an  excellent 
companion." 

After  which  the  conversation  had  diverged  into  other  chan- 
nels, for  Fargus  was  too  well  bred  and  too  wise  to  push  the 
General  further  than  he  seemed  inclined  to  go  upon  the 
delicate  topic,  however  tempting  the  opportunity  might  seem. 
But  enough  had  been  said  to  confirm  his  secret  hopes. 
Whether  Charles  had  prejudiced  Maude  against  her  girlhood's 
choice,  it  was  just  possible  he  might  have  written — at  any 
rate,  whatever  may  have  been  the  influence  at  work  which 
caused  her  to  refuse  him,  that  must  Lewis  find  out  for  him- 
self. It  was  not  for  Fargus  to  interfere  here;  the  coast  was 
clear  of  material  obstacles,  the  weapon  vnelded  by  the  false 
friend  had  broken  in  his  hand,  and  here  was  the  General  as 
ready  to  welcome  his  old  favorite  as  son-in-law  as  he  had  been 
ready  to  act  a  father's  part  to  him  in  his  somewhat  deserted 
boyhood.  This  would  be  precious  news  to  welcome  the  lover 
on  the  morrow.  Her  father  had  as  good  as  said  that  if 
Maude's  heart  was  not  Lewis',  that  it  belonged  to  none.  Who 
could  know  the  bent  of  that  maiden  mind  better  than  he, 
between  whom  and  his  beautiful  daughter  there  existed  the 
closest  confidence  and  most  exquisite  tenderness?  Lewis 
with  these  odds  in  his  favor  had  but  to  fight  on  for  his  hap- 
piness. 

Fargus  was  a  man  of  wide  experience;  his  checkered  life 
had  carried  him  through  many  strange  adventures,  the  like 
of  which  befall  few  people.  He  had  a  partly  inborn,  partly 
acquired,  facility  for  discovering  men's  inward  through  their 
outward  self,  and  reading  with  clear  eye  the  weakness  or  the 
vice  that  lay  behind  fair  presentiments;  he  had  a  straight, 
decisive  judgment  of  conduct  and  events,  but  there  was  a 
very  important  element  he  had  never  cared  to  study,  and 
which  had  remained  in  consequence  as  a  sealed  book  to  him. 
Of  womanhood — the  womankind,  that  is,  reared  in  loving 
homes  and  shielded  from  the  outer  guile  and  the  vulgar 
curses  of  life — of  the  maidens  that  dream  away  their  ex- 
istence in  innocency  such  as  is  scarce  comprehensible  to  those 
that  have  had  to  face  the  world  as  it  is  from  childhood  up- 
ward. 

And  now,  as  he  stood  upon  the  moor  and  sent  his  glance 
toward  that  special  gable  in  the  old  black  and  white  house 
which  marked,  as  he  knew,  the  bower  of  its  fair  mistress,  he 
hugged  himself  to  think  that  she  was  destined  to  be  the 
blessing  of  his  son's  young  manhood. 

The  day  was  broad  when  the  faint  clang  of  a  church  bell 
in  the  distance  recalled  him  to  the  flight  of  time.    He  glanced 


Charybdis.  191 

at  his  watch — it  marked  the  half -hour  after  nine;  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  hungry  and  had  not  yet  broken  his  fast. 

"Yes,  Dinah,"  he  said,  looking  kindly  at  the  retriever,  who, 
perceiving  him  to  be  awakened  from  his  prolonged  immo- 
bility, "come  on,  old  lady;  you  shall  have  a  good  breakfast 
to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  your  sport." 

With  agitated  tail  and  nose  to  earth  Dinah  bounded  off  in 
the  direction  indicated,  and  her  master  swung  after  her  down 
the  slope  at  a  right  sturdy  pace.  As  he  anticipated,  there 
was  a  letter  addressed  in  Lewis'  somewhat  precise  and  for- 
eign-looking caligraphy.  Such  a  thick  letter!  What  could 
the  boy  have  to  say  to  swell  his  envelope  to  these  dimen- 
sions ? 

Fargus  weighed  the  missive  in  his  hand  and  hesitated  to 
open  it — an  unusual  shadow  of  evil  came  athwart  his  own 
heart.     In  another  minute,  however,  he  laughed  at  himself : 

"Positively  I  am  as  bad  as  a  lover  about  his  mistress  over 
this  big  boy  of  mine.  How  now,  David  Fargus !  presentiment 
because  there  is  a  cloud  over  the  sun,  and  because  a  letter 
from  Staple  Inn  seems  too  fat !     You  are  getting  old." 

He  broke  open  the  envelope  with  a  steady  hand,  and  drew 
forth  three  closely-written  sheets.  The  clouds  drifted  and 
drifted,  darker  and  closer.  Rain  fell.  Sunshine  flashed  out 
again,  and  the  blue  sky  broke  once  more  over  a  sparkling, 
dripping  earth.  Once  Turner,  the  discreet,  passed  his  head 
in  at  the  door  and  noislessly  withdrew  it.  Still  Fargus  sat 
absorbed  over  that  lengthy  letter,  moving  only  to  turn  the 
sheets  this  way  and  that  as  he  read  and  pondered,  and  read 
again : 

"My  Dear  Colonel  Fargus"  (Lewis  had  written) :  "I  fear 
that  when  this  comes  under  your  eyes  your  first  impulse  will 
be  to  mentally  declare  that  you  wash  your  hands  of  one  so 
ungrateful  and  foolish.  But  as  you  have  proved  of  more  help 
to  me  in  my  serious  trouble — been  more  friendly,  more  dis- 
interestedly kind  in  every  possible  way — than  I  can  express, 
I  am  emboldened  to  open  out  my  whole  mind  to  you  once 
more  and  expose  my  present  difficulty. 

"It  was  a  great  blow  to  me  to  learn  that  what  I  had  endeav- 
ored to  drive  from  my  mind  as  an  exaggeration,  .self-tor- 
menting fancy — the  suspicion  of  my  father  having  com- 
mitted suicide — ^was  actually  an  indisputable  fact.  Yet 
when  you  placed  my  case  and  Charles  Hillyard's  before  one, 
I  own  you  spoke  so  clearly,  so  plausibly,  that  your  words 
seemed  to  carry  conviction  with  them ;  and  su'bsequently,  dur- 
ing that  first  visit  of  Charles',  my  anger  against  him  seemed 
to  prevent  me  from  reasoning.    When  I  was  no  longer  under 


192  Charybdis. 

the  spell  of  your  cheering,  vigorous,  sympathetic  presence,  I 
had  time  to  reflect;  and  last  night  Charles  Hillyard  came 
again.  He  was  in  bitter  anger,  and  said  bitter  things;  he 
had  discovered  the  loss  of  the  papers,  of  course,  and  also 
knew  how  it  happened.  His  very  first  words  were  so  insult- 
ing to  me,  so  outrageous  about  you,  that,  in  the  indignation 
they  roused,  I  told  him  I  would  neither  listen  nor  speak  to 
him.  He  was  obliged  to  leave  me  without  obtaining  any 
satisfaction  as  to  what  had  become  of  the  documents — ^though 
it  is  quite  evident  he  believes  you  have  them.  But  what  he 
said  I  had  to  hear,  and  it  has  sunk  deep  into  my  heart. 

"  'You  have  read  these  papers,  Lewis,'  he  said ;  'you  have 
seen  with  your  own  eyes  how  this  George  Kerr  you  claim  as  a 
father  wrote  to  your  mother!  No  man  can  forgive  her  be- 
havior, he  says.  He  is  too  sick  at  heart  even  to  try  and  pun- 
ish her,  but  after  his  awful  discovery  he  cannot  live  with 
her.  But  he  will  not  ruin  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
These  are  his  words,  Lewis:  "I  will  give  you  your  liberty 
and  my  money,  but  I  will  die!"  Read  that  letter,  Lewis — 
read  it,  if  you  have  it,  for,  I  suspect,  your  wonderfiil  new 
friend  has  got  hold  of  the  papers,  as  he  seems  to  have  got 
hold  of  your  conscience — for  God  knows  what  private  aim  of 
his  own — ^but  if  you  have  them  in  your  possession,  study  them 
alone,  honestly,  away  from  his  perverting  influence,  then  dare 
to  say  you  believe  your  mother  innocent,  yourself  true-bom  1 
dare  to  come  and  offer  yourself  as  the  last  link  of  the  chain 
of  true  Kerrs !'  I  can  laugh  at  it  now,  though  it  angered  me 
so  much  at  the  time  that,  but  for  that  insolence,  I  think  I 
could  have  cried  out  to  him  that  he  was  right,  that  I  should 
fight  him  no  more.  For  when  he  spoke  of  that  letter  he  had 
the  accent  of  truth  in  his  voice.  And  oh !  Colonel  Fargus,  I 
could  not  turn  upon  him  and  say:  'You  have  twisted  the 
words  to  your  own  evil  meaning — thus,  and  not  so,  did  my 
father  write.'  I  could  not  even  say  to  him:  'I  will  read, 
and  prove  you  liar  from  your  own  mouth!'  Why  did  you 
bum  those  letters?  What  lies  before  me  but  either  to  take 
upon  me  honors  and  riches  I  can  never  establish,  to  my  own 
mind,  a  moral  right  to ;  or  blast  myself  bastard,  for  the  sake 
of  a  quiet  conscience?  Better,  indeed,  would  have  been  the 
lawsuit,  the  open  scandal,  than  this.  At  least,  if  by  law  I 
had  been  proclaimed  legitimate,  I  could  in  peace  of  mind 
have  accepted  the  position,  and  for  the  sake  of  my  name  and 
all  it  means  to  me  I  should  have  risked  the  alternative.  I 
believe,  with  you,  that  these  letters  prove  nothing  to  absolute 
certainty;  on  the  other  hand,  I  see,  with  Hillyard,  that  they 
lay  my  parentage  open  to  strong  suspicion.  You,  in  yonr 
kindness  and  anxiety  to  befriend  one  to  whom  you  had  taken 


Charybdis.  193 

a  liking,  thought  better,  in  the  absence  of  any  distinct  proof, 
to  spare  me  the  knowledge  of  this  suspicion.  There  are  men, 
no  doubt,  who  would  laugh  to  think  that  on  a  mere  suspicion 
I  should  meditate  giving  up  name  and  fortune.  I  repeat,  if 
I  could  fight  it  out  with  Hillyard  in  fair  and  open  fight,  I 
should  do  so,  and  accept  the  verdict  of  the  court,  whichever 
way  it  went,  as  final.  But  a  series  of  extraordinary  events 
have  rendered  this  impossible.  I  have  been  legally  estab- 
lished heir  to  Gilham  by  the  revengeful  cleverness  of  a  jealous 
woman,  and  by  your  well-meaning  but  mistaken  destruction 
of  evidence  against  me.  Can  I  take  advantage  of  this?  I 
know  what  you  would  say  to  me.  All  night,  I  tell  you,  I  battled 
with  myself,  but  my  conscience,  my  honor,  are  too  strong  for 
me,  and  I  have  made  up  nay  mind,  unless  I  can  prove  myself, 
to  myself,  a  Kerr,  I  must  abandon  everything  to  Charles.  I 
was  so  worn  out  and  sick  at  heart  this  morning  that  I  was 
sorely  tempted  to  write  to  him  and  have  done  with  it  all  and 
go  back  to  India  at  once.  I  will  do  nothing  without  hearing 
from  you ;  I  hold  to  showing  you  what  I  fear  this  letter  may 
lead  you  to  doubt — ^that  indeed  my  confidence  in  you  is  not 
shaken.  I  promise  to  take  no  steps  without  hearing  from 
you,  to  wait  patiently  for  your  answer  to  this.  Think  for  me, 
judge  for  me,  and  help  me  to  safeguard  my  honor  as  you 
would  have  helped  your  own  son;  had  you  had  one.  No  sac- 
rifice can  be  considered  when  such  a  point  is  at  stake;  but 
your  decision  will  relieve  me  from  this  constant  mental  con- 
flict. I  shall  write  to  the  General  when  everything  is  set- 
tled and  I  am  outward-bound  once  more;  meanwhile,  you  will 
keep  my  counsel. 

"Yours  ever  sincerely  and  grateftilly, 

"Lewis  Kerr." 
"P.  S. — ^Do  you  remember  my  asking  you  whether  there  was 
resemblance  between  George  Kerr's  portrait  and  myself?  I 
used  to  think  so.  This  morning  I  held  it  beside  my  face  be- 
fore the  glass  and  studied  both  images.  I  could  see  no  like- 
ness. Everything  seems  to  have  gone  from  me — even  the 
memories  that  have  grown  into  my  life." 

A  deep  sigh  escaped  from  Fargus'  lips  when  he  at  length 
looked  up  from  the  letter,  and,  refolding  the  closely-covered 
sheets  with  almost  tender  care,  placed  them  in  his  breast- 
pocket. He  then  rose  and  stood  looking  out  across  the  wide 
prospect,  checkered  now  with  strong  lights  and  shadows  from 
a  cloud-riven  yet  sun-bright  sky. 

So  it  has  come  to  it  at  last.  The  veil  must  be  lifted,  the 
secret  unfolded.  David  Fargus,  the  loved  and  admired  com- 
panion, the  trusty  friend,  must  reveal  himself  in  his  tru« 


194  Cliarybdis. 

colors.  And  George  Kerr,  whose  memory,  in  spite  of  one 
supposed  unhappy  deed,  was  kept  in  honor  by  his  own,  must 
reappear  in  all  his  deceitfulness  before  the  eyes  of  the  one 
being  he  loved — ^with  a  love  that  seemed  revengful  for  his 
long  immunity  from  human  ties,  so  keen  was  it,  so  all-absorb- 
ing, so  potent  now  for  pain  or  joy. 

How  different  from  under  the  glamour  of  his  adventurous, 
careless  youth  did  the  past  appear  now  in  the  garish  light  of 
the  pitiless  present  I  Heedless  disregard  of  another's  possible 
sorrow;  gross  egotism,  which  had  led  him  to  act  a  ghastly 
lie,  to  desert  his  child,  to  disown  his  name.  And  from  it, 
behold  what  a  train  of  consequences,  circling  wider  and  wider 
till  the  lives  of  many  innocent  beings  are  drawn  into  the 
spreading  wrong!  The  death  of  her  whom  he  had  vowed  to 
guard  and  cherish  so  long  as  life  remained;  the  grief  and 
lonely  old  age  of  her  parents,  who  had  confided  her  to  his 
guidance  and  keeping ;  the  shadow  across  his  sister's  life ;  the 
melancholy  struggle  of  his  son's  childhood  and  youth,  and 
this  insult  to  name  and  honor  in  his  manhood;  the  dead 
squire's  breach  of  trust  and  dying  act  of  enmity;  the  temp- 
tation to  Charles  Hillyard  and  his  fall  from  moral  altitude 
to  qualified  dishonesty  and  vulgar  greed;  and  the  last  wide 
ripple  bringing  such  poignant  misery  to  Lewis,  cutting  him 
apart  from  the  true,  sweet  girl  who  had  loved  him — no  doubt 
loved  him  still — to  poor,  passionless  Hilda,  ruined  and  like  to 
be  abandoned  to  heaven  knows  what  unimaginable  depths. 

But  the  circle  could  and  should  be  broken  here,  and  the 
happiness  of  two  lives,  at  least,  be  saved  from  out  of  the 
wreck.  Thank  God  for  that;  thank  God  that  by  his  own 
humiliation  and  suffering  the  father  had  it  still  in  his  power 
to  save  them  to  the  son. 

This  was  to  be  the  expiation.  What  would  that  boy  of 
his,  who  had  learned  to  trust  him,  who  revered  him  for  past 
achievements  and  loved  him  for  present  good — what  would 
that  white-souled  man,  who  held  honor  so  high  that  he  pre- 
ferred expatiation  and  disgrace  and  the  relinquishing  of  the 
woman  he  loved  to  the  shadow  of  a  stain  upon  it — and  this 
with  such  a  simple  heroism  as  to  be  fain  to  ask  pardon  for 
the  trouble  caused — what  would  he  think  of  his  father  when 
the  shameful  truth  had  to  be  told  ?  A  father  whom  this  son, 
having  fought  his  way  to  honorable  manliness — not  by  his 
help,  but,  indeed,  in  spite  of  him — owed  nothing  to,  but 
much  misery  in  the  past  and  in  the  present.  A  father  whom 
the  son  is  never  to  acknowledge  before  the  world,  and  whom 
he  cannot  even  acknowledge  to  himself  without  regret. 
Oh,  it  would  be  hard  to  have  to  do  this — to  lose  the  esteem, 
the  affection  so  happily  won,  so  highly  prized;  to  feel  that  all 


The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors.         195 

he  could  hope  for  now  in  their  stead  was  anger,  contempt, 
or,  perchance — for  his  boy  was  generous — pity  and  forgive- 
ness ;  and  these  were  cold  feelings  for  love  to  think  on. 

Yet,  after  all,  as  he  stood  there,  and  measured  past  and 
future  with  even  mind,  and  calmly  faced  the  coming  bitter- 
ness and  humiliation,  a  great  thankfulness,  a  triumphant 
pride,  rose  paramount  like  a  flood  in  his  heart;  that  his  son 
was  what  he  was,  and  that  he — his  father — ^was  at  hand  to 
help  him  in  his  need,  and  could  help  him  at  last  by  the  sac- 
rifice of  self. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

THE  LONE  GRANGE  HAS  VISITORS. 

Holding  a  cup  of  cold  tea  in  his  hand,  Fargus  paced  his 
room  with  heavy,  regular  tread,  so  lost  to  outer  things  that 
the  sharp  sound  of  the  hall-door  bell,  the  approach  of  steps 
along  the  flagged  passage,  struck  indeed  upon  his  ear,  but 
brought  no  meaning  to  his  mind;  neither  did  he  notice  his 
servant's  entrance  upon  his  privacy,  nor  the  subdued  murmur 
of  his  voice.  Indeed,  he  only  became  aware  of  that  worthjr's 
respectful  presence  when,  turning  in  his  measured  tramp,  he 
came  upon  him  suddenly — and  then  with  a  vague  memory  of 
words  still  ringing  in  the  air, 

"What  was  that  you  said,  Turner?" 

"There  is  a  young  lady  without,  sir,  who  gives  her  name  as 
Miss  Wren,  and  would  like  to  speak  with  you,  she  says,  sir." 

Fargus'  face  marked  strong  displeasure.  Could  ever  in- 
trusion be  more  inopportune.  But  in  another  minute  his 
innate  sense  of  justice  triumphed  over  the  natural  irritation. 
She  had  been  told  to  come  if  she  needed  help.  Moreover,  she 
might  be  the  bearer  of  news — useful,  if  not  important. 

"Ask  the  lady  to  step  in  here,"  he  said,  thoughtfully  scan- 
ning the  servant's  face  and  wondering  with  some  annoyance 
what  scandal  and  gossip  this  strange  appearance  of  Maude's 
double  would  create  in  his  bachelor  household.  Turner  with- 
drew to  fulfill  the  order,  and  presently,  the  door  noiselessly 
closing  behind  her,  the  visitor  and  her  host  stood  face  to 
face  alone. 

To  the  latter's  satisfaction,  she  was  closely  veiled  with 
white  gossamer. 

"An  unexpected  pleasure.  Miss  Wren!"  said  Fargus  pleas- 
antly, stretching  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke.  "What  has 
brought  you  hare  ?    No  bad  news,  I  hope." 


196       Tlie  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors. 

Without  seeming  to  notice  the  proffered  greeting,  the  girl 
threw  up  her  veil  with  a  passionate  gesture  of  weariness. 

"Let  me  sit  down,"  she  said  in  a  sort  of  cry,  and  she  flung 
herself  into  the  arm-chair  he  was  about  to  move  toward  her 
and  turned  her  face,  haggard  for  all  its  rounded  beauty  and 
paled  from  its  warm  richness  of  bloom,  to  look  at  him  with 
fevered  eyes. 

"You  want  to  know  what  has  brought  me  here,  and  if  it  is 
bad  news.  It  is  bad  news.  Oh,  never  fear — nothing  about 
that  precious  friend  of  yours.  There  is  nothing  new  about 
him,  it's  about  myself.  I've  been  a  fool,  that's  what  it 
comes  to.     And  now  I  have  come  on  a  fool's  errand." 

"W  hat  is  it  ?"  said  Fargus,  sitting  down  opposite  to  her,  and 
bending  forward  to  fix  upon  her  a  gaze  full  of  kindliness.  He 
felt  both  pity  and  liking  for  this  curious  undisciplined  crea- 
tuVe,  child  in  artless  impulse  and  woman  in  passionate  de- 
termination. 

"It's  just  this,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  I  know  you'll  think  I  am 
mad !  I  want  you  to  give  me  back  those  papers,  since  it  was 
you  who  took  them  from  me.  You  won't,  I  know,  but  a 
drowning  man  '11  catch  at  a  straw,  they  say.  I  had  no  right 
to  have  brought  them  to  you,  and  they  can't  mean  as  much 
to  you  as  they  do  to  me." 

Through  their  covering  gloves  the  shapely  hands,  inter- 
laced upon  her  lap,  showed  convulsive  clutchings,  and  she 
returned  his  glance  from  hollow  eyes,  that  looked  as  if  they 
had  not  closed  in  slumber  through  long,  weary  nights. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  answered  very  gently,  "have  you  come 
all  this  way  to  ask  me  to  do  an  impossible  thing?  Those 
papers  I  saw  burned  myself  the  very  night  after  you  brought 
them.  But  even  were  it  not  so,  they  belonged  to  Mr.  Kerr 
by  right,  and  I  could  never  have  returned  them  to  you  for 
Mr.  Hillyard's  peculiar  designs." 

She  listened  in  silence,  compressing  her  lips  till  all  the 
carmine  flew  from  them. 

"Of  course,"  she  said  at  length,  nodding  her  head  in  dreary 
acceptance  of  his  reasoning.  "Didn't  I  say  I  was  a  fool  ?  He 
has  left  me." 

She  turned  her  head  sharply  from  him,  for  a  second  her 
whole  frame  quivering  in  a  brave  struggle  against  herself, 
but  the  next  she  had  thrown  herself  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 
and  had  broken  into  a  storm  of  long-drawn  sobs. 

She  was  not  one  "of  the  crying  sort,"  she  had  said,  and  in 
truth  her  weeping  was  far  removed  from  the  facile,  elegant 
tear-shedding  of  which  her  sex  possesses  the  monopoly. 

Very  much  disturbed,  and  quite  nonplussed  as  to  what 
could  be  done  for  her,  Fargus  took  what  was  perhaps  the 


The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors.        197 

wisest  course,  and  left  her  alone.  She  raised  herself  pres- 
ently and  quitted  her  chair,  to  walk  over  to  the  window. 
There  she  stood  with  her  face  to  the  breeze,  and  battled  with 
her  pain  in  silence.  Then,  as  the  feminine  instinct  began 
to  reassert  itself,  she  fell  to  fingering  her  hair  and  smoothing 
her  gown,  and  to  lay  the  pretty  cloak  neatly  across  a  chair. 
She  next  looked  at  Fargus,  who  had  noticed  these  signs  with 
much  relief,  and  a  faint,  melancholy,  shy  smile  stole  over 
her  lips. 

"Can  I  get  you  anything?  Let  me  give  you  a  glass  of 
wine." 

She  looked  up  again,  and,  at  the  sympathetic  tone  of  his 
voice,  the  tears  glistened  again  under  her  heavy  lids. 

"I'd  rather  have  some  milk,  thank  you.  I've  had  precious 
little  breakfast,  and  I've  walked  a  terrible  way.  I  thought 
I'd  get  some  more  in  the  village,  but  there's  no  village,  it 
seems." 

He  got  a  glass  and  filled  it  from  his  breakfast  table.  She 
sat  down  to  it,  and  seizing  the  brown  loaf  in  her  strong 
hands  to  break  off  a  crusty  portion,  fell  to  with  right  good 
will. 

"That's  done  me  good,  I  think,"  she  said.  "What  a  fool 
you  must  think  me.  But  I've  had  a  cruel  time  lately,  and  I 
don't  feel  like  my  regular  self  at  all.  So  you've  burned  them 
papers.  Perhaps  it's  as  well.  I  came  to  make  you  give  them 
back.  But  since  you  say  they're  burned  there's  an  end  of 
it.  I  thought  to  have  brought  him  back  with  them,  though 
he  pretends  what  I've  done  won't  prevent  anything.  I  have 
been  mad  like  ever  since  I  saw  him,  and  his  words  and  his 
laugh  when  he  left  me  have  been  in  my  ears  night  and  day." 

"You  have  seen  him  again — ^was  he  terribly  angry?"  asked 
Fargus, 

"Angry !  Oh,  that  he  was,  but  you  would  not  have  thought 
it  to  see  him.  He  was  as  cool  and  quiet  as  ever,  smiling 
most  of  the  time.  It  was  the  next  day  after  I'd  been  to  you 
that  he  came.  Well,  I  was  sitting  by  the  window  looking 
out,  when  I  saw  a  hansom  come  whisking  round  the  square. 
'Lord!'  says  I,  'whatever  shall  I  do  if  that's  Charlie?'  Sure 
enough,  as  it  came  along,  there  he  sat,  as  pale  as  death.  He 
looked  up  at  me  as  he  jumped  out  in  a  black  sort  of  way. 
So  then  he  comes  in,  without  a  word,  and  walks  up  to  me, 
and  putting  his  hand  under  my  chin,  looks  hard  into  my  eyes. 
*It  is  you,'  he  says,  and  he  b^ns  to  walk  the  room,  looking 
nasty  and  damning  under  his  mustache,  I  answered  him 
back,  as  bold  as  you  please.  'Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean ;  I 
might  pretend  innocent,  but  I  won't.  You  thought  that  you 
could  make  use  of  me  and  amuse  yourself  with  me  and  drop 


198       The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors. 

me,  just  as  the  fancy  took  you;  but  I'm  not  so  dense  that  I 
can't  see  clear  through  your  little  business.  Master  Charlie,' 
says  I.  'Can  you,  indeed?'  says  he  with  a  sort  of  a  snarl, 
stopping  before  me.  'Well,  since  you've  been  so  very  clever 
about  my  affairs,  tell  me  how  you've  done  it,  and  why.' 
'Nothing  incomprehensible  at  all  about  it,'  says  I.  *I  don't 
want  you  to  grow  so  rich  that  I'm  no  longer  good  enough 
for  you.  I  found  out  your  game,  and  you  gave  me  the  chance 
to  prevent  it,  and  I  took  it.'  He  seemed  staggered  at  that, 
and  he  looked  at  me  with  a  funny  look  from  head  to  foot. 
And  as  he  looked  the  anger  seemed  to  go  out  of  his  eyes,  and 
there  came  into  them  a  cold,  nasty,  hard  kind  of  stare.  Then 
he  began  to  whistle  to  himself,  soft  and  low,  and  I  had  to 
sit  down,  for  my  legs  were  shaking  under  me.  I  knew  it  was 
all  up  somehow,  but  the  look  of  him  made  me  feel  like  death." 

"And  then?"  said  Fargus,  as  she  paused,  closing  her  eyes 
and  apparently  absorbed  in  the  unpleasant  memory.  "Did  he 
succeed  in  making  you  confess  all  that  happened  ?" 

"I  told  him  of  myself.  I  told  him  all  I'd  done.  I  wanted 
him  to  know  the  sort  of  woman  he'd  made  a  fool  of,  thinking 
he  could  pension  her  off  in  the  end.  But  he  lay  on  the  sofa, 
quite  calm  and  collected.  He  would  smile,  now  and  again, 
to  himself.  But  when  I  came  to  mentioning  you  he  pricked 
up  his  ears  and  listened  eagerly  enough.  'I  know  the  man,' 
he  says ;  'I  know  him  well ;  so  he  took  the  papers,  did  he  ?  So 
that's  the  game,  is  it?'  says  he,  and  gets  up  and  begins  to 
tramp  about  again.  Then  he  goes  back  to  his  sofa  and  asks 
me  many  questions  about  you — every  word  you  said,  and  how 
you  looked,  and  where  you  put  the  papers  when  I  gave  them 
to  you,  and  he  seemed  quite  pleased  like  after  a  bit.  But  I 
thought  I'd  die  if  he  left  me  like  that.  I  flung  my  arms 
round  him  and  begged  and  prayed  him  to  forgive  me,  and 
only  not  to  leave  me.  He  stood  quite  still — never  raised  a 
finger  to  push  me  off — Charlie  is  always  the  gentleman;  but 
my  arms  fell  off  of  themselves — I  might  as  well  have  been 
hugging  a  block  of  ice.  'What's  the  matter  with  you?'  he 
asks.  'Haven't  you  got  it  all  your  own  way?'  *0h,  Charlie,' 
says  I.  'Have  you  no  pity  for  me,  that  loved  you  all  these 
years — ^will  you  go  to  that  other  girl,  after  all?'  'Why,  how 
can  I?'  says  he,  laughing;  'don't  I  say  you've  been  too  clever 
for  me?  Haven't  you  given  away  the  papers,  and  ain't  I 
helpless  without  them  ?'  And  then  he  walks  out  of  the  room, 
still  laughing  to  himself,  runs  down-stairs,  and  I  hear  the 
front  door  bang.  I  knew  he  never  meant  to  come  back. 
And  I  began  to  think,  'He's  that  clever,  may  be  he'll  get 
round  the  old  gentleman';  and  then  I  thought,  'If  I  get  the 
papers  first,  I'll  win  him  back.' 


The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors.        199 

"So  I  looked  out  your  station,  arrived  last  night,  and  here 
I  am.  I've  been  beforehand  with  Charlie,  anyhow,  haven't 
1?" 

"He  has  certainly  not  come  to  me,"  said  Fargus.  "But  I 
have  no  doubt  he  will  come  to  make  the  same  request  and  to 
receive  the  same  answer." 

"I  couldn't  rest,  you  see,"  she  said  wearily.  "May  be, 
thought  I,  he's  making  love  to  that  girl  on  the  sly;  may  be 
I've  not  kept  him  out  of  his  big  fortune,  and  if  he  makes 
love  to  her  how  could  she  help  herself? — she'll  marry  him 
without.  I  was  determined,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  her  face 
took  that  look  of  strange  decision  that  Fargus  knew  already, 
"I  was  determined  that  if  I  found  out  there  was  talk  of  mar- 
riage I  would  go  to  the  girl  myself;  for  all  his  sharpness,  he 
never  seemed  to  think  of  how  I've  got  him  in  my  power  there. 
But  I've  seen  her,"  she  added,  more  pensively,  "and  I  own 
I'd  rather  not  to  have  to  do  it." 

"You've  already  seen  Miss  Woldham!"  ejaculated  Fargus. 

"Oh,  not  to  speak  to,  only  as  she  went  by;  course  I  knew 
her,  since  I  know  myself.  I'd  have  a  funny  story  to  tell  her, 
and  it  would  come  hard  on  her,  if  she  loved  Charlie.  But 
he's  mine,  and  she  shan't  have  him." 

"Do  not  excite  yourself,"  said  Fargus.  "There  is  no  ques- 
tion of  marriage  between  Miss  Woldham  and  any  one  at 
present.     If  there  were,  the  man  would  not  be  Mr.  Hillyard." 

"Think  not  ?  You  don't  know  Charlie,  I  suspect ;  once  he's 
set  on  a  thing,  he's  a  devil  to  get  it.  If  you  could  have 
seen  how  he  got  round  me  when  father  wanted  me  to  come 
back — ^poor  father!  Tell  you  what,  old  gentleman,  you  said 
you'd  do  me  a  good  turn  if  you  could,  and  now  I'll  claim  it. 
You're  settled  down  here  for  a  bit,  aren't  you  ?  Well,  if  you 
find  out  that  this  man,  who  belongs  to  me,  is  making  up  to 
the  other  girl,  you'll  just  let  me  know,  and  I'll  just  hop 
down  and  spoil  the  little  game!     Will  you  do  that  for  me?" 

She  rose  and  stood  impatiently  over  him.  Fargus  delayed 
his  reply. 

"  'Tisn't  so  much  to  ask,  I'm  sure,"  she  urged  at  length  in 
injured  tones,  plumping  sulkily  back  into  her  chair. 

"Come,  come,"  answered  Fargus,  smiling,  "I  have  really  no 
business  to  promise  such  a  thing.  Nevertheless,  I  think  I  may 
promise  that  if  such  an  unlikely  event  should  come  to  pass 
I  will  immediately  inform  you  of  it,  on  the  condition  that 
you  promise  to  come  to  me  first." 

"So  that  you  may  be  sure  to  have  your  finger  in  the  pie ! 
Well,  that's  pretty  good  for  one  that  doesn't  like  to  in- 
terfere!" cried  Hilda.    "My!  but  you're  a  queer  gentleman!" 


200       The  Lone  Orange  Has  Visitors. 

"I  confess  you  seem  to  have  me  there,"  returned  Fargus. 
"Anyhow,  I  hold  to  my  point;  it  is  for  you  to  decide  now." 

The  girl's  spirits  Lad  risen  visibly. 

"Oh!  I  don't  mind  a  bit,"  she  responded.  "I've  not  the 
slightest  objection  to  come  to  see  you  first  if  I  do  not  have  to 
come  here  again.  She  lives  close  to  you,  doesn't  she,  and  you 
know  her  well?" 

"She  lives  a  couple  of  miles  away,  and  I  know  her  very 
well." 

"Seems  nice,  sweet-tempered,  I  must  say,"  Miss  Wren  pro- 
ceeded. "I  put  up,  you  know,  at  that  little  pot-house  near 
the  station — Gilham  Arms,  they  call  it.  Oh,  never  fear,  I 
was  all  veiled  up,  for  I  didn't  want  to  have  people  taking  me 
for  the  other  girl.  So  I've  been  precious  careful  that  none 
but  an  idiot  of  a  servant  should  see  me  without  my  veil  on. 
I  did  want  to  have  a  peep  at  the  Woldham  girl,  and,  as  good 
luck  would  have  it,  as  I  sat  by  the  window  just  after  tea 
last  evening,  there  comes  a  big  dog-cart  rumbling  down  the 
street,  a  fine  old  gentleman,  very  stiff,  with  white  hair,  driv- 
ing of  it,  and  all  the  people  touching  their  hats  to  him.  He 
gets  out  at  the  station  wonderful  quick  for  such  an  old  fel- 
low, when  down  the  steps  I  sees  her  come  running  to  meet 
him.  No  mistake  about  her,  either.  Black  hat,  gray  gown 
and  all.  I  knew  her  in  a  moment.  Kind  of  thing  that 
makes  you  feel  queerish,  you  know,  to  see  your  portrait  run- 
ning about.  Well,  she  hugged  the  old  gentleman — he's  her 
father,  I  take  it — and  he  hugged  her  back;  seems  as  if  they 
were  desperate  fond  of  each  other.  Then  they  both  toddled 
up  into  the  dog-cart,  and  he  gives  her  the  reins  and  off  they 
whisk.  A  fine-looking  pouple,  though  of  course  it  wouldn't 
become  me  to  go  into  fits  over  her  good  looks,  would  it  ?  Isn't 
it  strange,  now,  to  think  of  her,  not  a  bit  different  from  me, 
except  that  she  was  born  a  lady-baby,  going  off  so  happy  like 
to  her  grand  home,  and  with  Charlie  ready  to  kiss  the  dust 
off  her  shoes;  and  me,  thrown  aside,  looked  down  upon, 
having  to  scheme  and  fight  for  my  rights,  and  not  a  roof  to 
shelter  me  if  I  can't  keep  Charlie  ?  That  father  of  hers  seems 
reglilar  set  on  her;  so  was  my  father  on  me,  once,  and  as 
proud  of  me,  though  you  wouldn't  think  it  if  you  knew  him 
now.  My  father  is  short  and  fat,  though,"  she  added  medi- 
tatively, "and  had  a  jolly  red  face — it  was  my  mother  had 
the  looks." 

Fargus  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  naivete  of  the  last 
phase,  but  during  the  preceding  narrative  he  had  glanced  at 
the  clock  more  than  once  with  some  consternation.  It  was 
close  on  noon,  and  he  had  much  before  him.  That  letter  to 
prepare  him  for  the  strange  news  had  to  be  written  and  sent 


The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors.        201 

as  soon  as  possible.  But  his  garrulous  visitor,  lolling  com- 
fortably back  in  her  chair,  did  not  seem  to  have  the  faintest 
idea  of  moving. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said  at  length,  "it  is  getting  late ; 
I  must  point  out  that,  glad  as  I  am  to  have  seen  you,  and 
much  as  I  appreciate  the  value  of  the  news  you  have  brought 
me,  it  would  be  exceedingly  awkward  for  both  of  us  to  be 
discovered  tete-a-tete  in  this  manner,  and  I  cannot  guarantee 
myself  from  chance  visitors." 

Hilda's  lip  curled  with  a  smile  of  much  amusement. 

"Lor',  an  old  fellow  like  you!"  she  ejaculated  with  a  giggle. 

"Supposing  Mr.  Hillyard  should  come." 

The  girl  sprang  up  to  her  feet  in  blank  dismay. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  she  shrieked,  "it's  as  much  as  my  whole 
life  is  worth  to  meet  him  here !  He'd  never  forgive  me  if  he 
thought  I  was  playing  him  false  again.  Tell  you  what,  you'll 
have  to  hide  me  till  it's  dark." 

"My  dear  Miss  Wren,  that's  impossible." 

There  was  a  tinge  of  exasperation  in  Fargus'  voice. 

"You  must,  for  I  won't  go.  I'll  stop  in  the  pantry,  in  the 
box-room,  anywhere  you  like."  She  stamped  her  foot. 
"Heaven  knows  he  may  be  on  the  road  already!  I  mean 
what  I  say;  I  won't  go  till  I  know  it's  safe.  You'll  have 
to  keep  me,  I  say.  It  isn't  much  to  ask  you,  but  it  is  life 
or  death  to  me." 

Fargus  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair  with  a  despairing 
gesture.  He  knew  enough  of  Miss  Wren  already  to  realize 
that  he  might  as  well  hope  to  influence  a  stone  by  argument 
or  threats,  as  to  turn  her  from  her  purpose.  He  was  himself 
anxious  that  Charles  Hillyard  should  not  discover  this  visit, 
and  from  Lewis'  letter  his  appearance  that  day  was  not  an 
unlikely  contingency. 

After  a  minute  devoted  to  reflection,  he  took  up  a  railway 
time-table,  which  he  studied  critically,  and  then: 

"Listen,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "I  am  willing  you  should  re- 
main here  till  nightfall,  since  there  seems,  indeed,  nothing  else 
to  be  done.  There  is  a  room  yonder,  prepared  for  an  expected 
guest;  you  can  take  possession  of  it,  and  I  promise  you  will 
be  undisturbed  there.  When  it  is  dark  my  servant  will  drive 
you  into  Norton  in  time  for  the  eight  o'clock  train  up.  At 
any  rate,  this  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  you." 

Hilda  was  beaming  once  more. 

"That'll  do,  capital!"  she  cried.  "I  always  thought  you 
were  a  rattling  good  sort,"  and,  gathering  up  her  scattered 
belongings,  she  followed  her  host  into  the  pretty  wainscoted 
chamber  leading  out  of  the  study,  already  decked  and  pre- 
pared for  Lewis'  advent. 


202       The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors. 

Having  seen  her  installed  in  a  deep  arm-ctair,  out  of  range 
of  the  window,  where  tall  hollyhocks  nodded  in  between  screens 
of  reddening  creepers,  Fargus  provided  her  with  a  book  or 
two  and  some  papers,  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices,  prom- 
ising, furthermore,  to  supply  her  with  food  when  the  time 
came. 

Once  more  back  in  his  sitting-room,  he  sat  down  to  indite  a 
telegram  to  Lewis,  which,  copied  at  last,  ran  thus: 

"Eeceived  your  letter  and  fully  understand  your  point  of 
view ;  nevertheless,  be  of  good  heart.  I  have  unexpected  news 
for  you  which  will  completely  satisfy  your  scruples.  Letter 
follows  to-night.  Fargus." 

This  done,  he  rang  the  bell  and,  musing,  waited  for  the 
servant's  appearance. 

"Turner,  I  want  you  to  have  your  dinner  early  and  to  go 
to  Norton  as  soon  as  possible  afterward  to  send  this  telegram. 
Be  careful  that  it  is  absolutely  correct." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  will  be  back  in  time  to  catch  the  eight-five  train  for 
town  to-night.  I  shall  want  you  to  drive  in  the  lady  who 
came  this  morning.  You  can  lay  out  cold  lunch  for  me  be- 
fore you  go." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  invaluable  factotum,  whatever  may  have  been  his  pri- 
vate reflections,  withdrew  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his 
face.  But  Fargus  knew  he  could  trust  him,  and  was,  more- 
over, conscious  of  having  created  a  reciprocal  feeling  in  the 
man's  mind. 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  dignified  figure,  Far- 
gus once  more  fell  to  measuring  the  room  with  slow  tread, 
after  his  fashion  when  especially  absorbed  in  thought. 

After  a  while  he  drew  forth  Lewis'  letter,  which  he  care- 
fully re-read  and  finally  destroyed  with  minute  care.  Then 
he  sat  down  to  his  writing  table,  opened  his  desk  for  some 
fooolscap  paper  and  began  to  write. 

Though  the  shaft  of  light  which  struck,  slanting  and  gold- 
en, through  the  low  window,  had  already  traveled  along  a 
considerable  arc  on  the  brick  floor  before  he  laid  down  his  pen, 
sighing  and  stretching  himself  after  the  long  constraint,  his 
task  was  little  more  than  half  completed.  He  carefully 
locked  the  sheets  he  had  just  written  in  his  traveling-desk, 
and  hurried  to  the  dining-room  to  repair  his  neglect  of  hos- 
pitable duties.  Presently,  with  a  well-stocked  tray,  he  stood 
outside  Hilda's  door  and  knocked  several  times  in  vain. 

At  length  she  bade  him  come  in,  and,  as  he  entei>ed,  raised 


The  Lone  Grange  Has  Visitors.        205 

a  flushed  and  smiling  face  from  the  soft-cushioned  back  of 
the  arm-chair. 

"I  do  believe  I've  been  asleep,"  she  said,  rubbing  her  eyes 
like  a  child;  "I  was  that  tired  I  never  slept  a  wink  last 
night." 

"It  will  do  you  good,"  responded  Fargus  kindly,  and  placed 
the  tray  upon  the  table.  "I  had  f  orgottten  all  about  you,  and 
I  was  quite  afraid  you  would  think  I  meant  to  starve  you." 

"Well,  I  couldn't  think  so  now,  anyhow,"  said  the  girl. 
"My !  what  a  lot  of  nice  things  you've  brought  me !  Ah !  I  do 
love  the  country  taste  of  things.  Thank  you  for  your  trouble. 
I'm  happier  than  I've  been  this  long  time:  I  feel  I  could 
enjoy  my  food  now  as  I  haven't  enjoyed  a  bit  since  Charlie 
left.  I  think  he  can't  but  come  back  to  rae  in  the  end, 
especially  when  he  finds  he  can't  have  the  other." 

"Indeed,  I  trust  you  will  have  your  wish,"  replied  Fargus, 
unwilling  to  damp  her  renewed  cheerfulness,  and  marveling 
at  her  wonderful  buoyancy  of  temperament.  "And  now  I 
shall  not  disturb  you  again  till  evening ;  you  would  like  some 
tea  before  you  go,  no  doubt." 

She  nodded  brightly  and  gratefully  over  her  glass,  and  he 
withdrew  to  snatch  a  hasty  meal  before  returning  to  finish  the 
interrupted  task.  This  at  last  accomplished,  he  critically 
perused  the  lengthy  document,  folded  it  and  inserted  it  in  a 
stout  legal  envelope,  which  he  next  proceeded  to  direct,  and 
finally  to  seal  with  a  signet  ring. 

Then,  lying  back  in  his  chair,  and  gazing  at  the  envelope 
before  him,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"Done,  once  for  all,  thank  God,"  he  murmured  low  to  him- 
self. "Now  is  the  mischief  at  last  repaired — the  treacherous 
black  and  white  so  carelessly  cast  about  in  the  old  days,  to  be 
afterward  so  cleverly  collected,  is  now  replaced  by  other  'writ- 
ten words  that  remain,'  and  that  will  prove  to  my  boy  what 
he  feared  never  could  now  be  proved.  And  now  Lewis'  name, 
honor,  fortune,  even  his  happiness  in  love,  please  God,  is  se- 
cure. Better  perhaps  it  were  if  Fargus  died,  for  then  this  ac- 
cession would  not  include  an  imdesirable  parent.  But,  oh,  my 
son!  my  dear  boy!  how  I  long  to  see  with  living  eyes  the 
shadow  of  pain  at  length  cleared  from  your  brave  young  face. 
I  could  hardly  have  had  the  courage  to  tell  you  my  shabby 
story  with  my  own  lips,  I  fear.  This  you  will  read  alone" — 
and  Fargus  wistfully  fingered  the  envelope — "and  thus  shall 
I  be  spared  your  first  and  natural  anger.  And  afterward,  per- 
haps, if  the  ardent  desire  of  your  heart  and  mine  is  accom- 
plished; when  Maude  is  your  wife,  and  you  "have  a  child  of 
your  own  to  love;  then,  perhaps,  you  will  come  to  think  less 
harshly  of  the  father  who  sinned  against  you  so  terribly — and 


204  The  "  Slip,"  or  "  Hangman's  "  Knot. 

he  may  see  his  dream  come  to  pass,  of  spending  some  of  his 
old  age  as  your  friend  under  the  shelter  of  your  blessed  home 
at  last." 

Fargus  fell  to  considering  the  terms  of  the  letter  to  be  dis- 
patched to  Lewis  that  night,  and  the  subsequent  course  of 
events.  He  would  summon  Lewis  to  him  at  once ;  then,  after 
breaking  the  seal  of  silence  that  had  held  his  past  for  five-and- 
twenty  years,  after  removing  his  son's  doubts  as  to  his  parent- 
age, he  would  advise  him  to  take  immediate  possession  of  his 
estate.  Of  course,  he  would  obtain  from  the  young  man,  be- 
fore the  veil  was  lifted,  a  promise  upon  his  honor  to  respect 
the  secret.  He  would  counsel  him  also  to  wait  a  while  before 
again  putting  his  fate  to  the  crucial  test  with  Maude;  for 
Hilda's  words  that  morning  remained  dimly  haunting  him: 
"You  little  know  Charlie,  once  he  is  set  on  a  thing."  What  if 
this  were  the  true  explanation  of  the  mystery  he  had  sought 
to  solve  by  the  theory  of  secret  and  premature  slander  ?  The 
more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  plausible  it  seemed,  and  he 
marveled  that  such  simple  explanation  should  not  have  sug- 
gested itself  sooner  to  him.  Charlie  Hillyard,  clever  beyond 
the  ordinary  run  of  men,  with  his  fine  air  of  natural  distinc- 
tion, his  delicately  satirical  manner,  his  high-bred  refinement, 
a  man  of  learning — ^was  he  not  just  the  being  to  compel  almost 
any  girl  to  answering  passion?  Could  Lewis  but  be  per- 
suaded to  wait,  time  would  soon  prove  to  Maude  that  Charles 
Hillyard  was  not  coming  forward  to  take  her  as  his  wife :  of 
that  he  could  trust  a  betrayed  and  revengeful  woman  to  take 
good  care.  And  then  would  not  Maude's  heart  again  turn  to 
the  faithful  lover  she  must  naturally  meet  so  often  and  learn 
to  appreciate — and  then  there  would  be  happiness,  life-long 
happiness,  for  both ! 

At  that  moment  a  shadow  fell  across  the  bright  window; 
Fargus  looked  up,  and  saw,  with  a  start,  Charles  Hillyard, 
who  stood  looking  in  upon  him  with  hard,  inimical  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  "slip,"  or  "hANOMAnV  KNOT. 

For  a  moment  Fargus  remained  gazing  at  the  startling  ap- 
parition; but  when  it  opened  its  lips  to  speak  in  mocking 
tones,  he  smiled  at  his  own  amazement. 

"Good-afternoon,  Colonel  Fargus;  you  seem  immersed  in 
very  deep  thought.  Excuse  this  irregular  way  of  presenting 
myself." 


The  "  Slip,"  or  "  Hangman's  "  Knot.    205 

"Oh,  so  you  have  come!"  responded  Fargus,  qiiietly.  *1 
was  expecting  a  visit  from  you.     Pray,  come  in." 

"Thanks.  I  will  come  in  this  way,"  and  the  speaker,  with- 
out waiting  for  reply,  swung  one  long  leg  after  the  other 
across  the  window-sill,  where  he  remained  sitting  for  a  mo- 
ment, while  Fargus,  motionless  in  his  chair,  awaited  his  pleas- 
ure. "You  have  fixed  upon  a  lonely  spot  here.  Colonel,"  pur- 
sued the  young  man  at  length,  as  if  this  were  the  outcome  of 
his  reflections.  "How  easy  it  is  to  walk  in  upon  you!  Are 
you  not  afraid  of  tramps  or  burglars  ?" 

Fargus  smiled,  and  drew  out  of  the  drawer  of  his  writing- 
table  a  long  American  navy  revolver  of  plain  and  peculiarly 
business-like  appearance,  which  he  laid  down  beside  him  and 
patted  with  a  significant  gesture. 

"With  this  in  my  hand,"  said  he,  "I  hold  the  lives,  or  any 
particular  limb  I  may  select  for  destruction,  of  six  men  at  my 
pleasure." 

Charles  Hillyard  shot  a  look  of  keen  scrutiny  at  the  calm, 
bearded  face  still  turned  smilingly  toward  him,  then  dropped 
his  eyes  with  a  sudden  frown. 

"Will  you  not  take  a  chair  ?"  The  conventional  handshake 
had  not  been  proffered  on  either  side.  "And  do  you  not  think 
you  will  find  your  hat  rather  warm  in  the  room  ?" 

Charles  rose  from  the  sill  to  fling  himsef  into  an  arm-chair 
opposite  the  American.  Silence  followed,  during  which  Far- 
gus noticed  his  nephew's  keen,  observant  glance  become  riveted 
on  the  long  envelope  which  lay,  its  bold,  clear  direction  upper- 
most, on  the  blotter  before  him.  Without  ostentation  he  took 
it  up  in  his  hand  for  a  moment,  then,  quietly  drawing  the  desk 
nearer,  placed  the  letter  in  one  of  the  inner  compartments, 
and  finally  locked  the  receptacle  with  a  key  attached  to  his 
watch-chain.  This  accomplished,  he  turned  toward  his  guest, 
to  find  him  still  intent,  but  smiling  curiously. 

"It  is  lucky  I  found  you  in,"  began  Mr.  Hillyard,  "for  I 
have  come  all  the  way  from  London  to  see  you." 

"Have  you,  indeed?"  answered  Fargus,  with  a  gentle  tone 
of  irony.     "I  am  sure  I  ought  to  feel  greatly  favored." 

Mr  Hillyard  laughed  shortly. 

"As  to  that,  I  come  to  you  because  it  suits  n:iy  interest.  I 
hope  we  may  be  undisturbed." 

"I  expect  no  visitors.  Greneral  Woldham  is  the  only  one  of 
my  neighbors  who  knows  of  my  return;  and  he  has  gone  to 
York  till  to-morrow.  We  are  sure  to  be  left  quite  by  our- 
selves." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Charles,  who,  however,  relapsed  once 
more  into  abstraction.  Then  all  at  once  he  sat  up  and  clasp- 
ing his  hands  round  his  knee,  looked  straight  and  hard  at 


2o6   The  "  Slip,"  or  "  Hangman's  "  Knot. 

Fargus.  "Do  you  know.  Colonel  Fargus,"  he  propounded, 
with  marked  deliberation,  "that  this  notion  of  yours  of  com- 
ing to  settle  down  in  a  solitary  house  four  times  too  large  for 
you,  ostensibly  for  the  sake  of  those  wide  acres  of  shooting 
you  never  shot  over " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  interrupted  the  host,  who  seemed  to 
listen  with  amusement,  "as  a  strict  matter  of  fact,  I  have  shot 
over  some  of  them,  and  that  only  yesterday." 

"Pshaw !"  cried  his  nephew,  waiving  the  interruption  aside, 
"which  you  do  not  shoot  over,  I  say ;  which  you  even  leave  at 
the  very  time  when  the  only  game  the  place  can  boast  of  is 
coming  into  season.  No  doubt  you  went  to  pursue  your  real 
game  on  the  Continent" — with  a  scornful  laugh — "but  for 
people  who  are  not  in  your  confidence,  this  sudden  disappear- 
ance of  yours,  to  return  in  the  equivocal  position  of  tutelary 
famulus  to  the  claimant  of  a  neighboring  estate,  is  open  to 
some  adverse  comment." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Hillyard,"  said  Fargus  with  great  calm,  "I 
am  not  so  conceited  as  to  think  that  any  of  my  movements  are 
likely  to  excite  interest  among  people  they  cannot  possibly 
concern;  if  they  were  to  do  so  I  would  not  care,  nor,  with 
greater  reason,  should  you.  I  suppose,  when  you  talk  of  what 
people  think,  you  allude  to  your  own  feelings  in  the  matter." 

"You  evade  the  question,  and  evasion  is  tantamount  to  ad- 
mission. You  admit,  I  say,"  said  Charles,  "that  your  erratic 
behavior,  your  very  presence  here,  is  suspicious  ?" 

"I  admire  the  rapidity  of  your  deductive  reasoning,  but  I  do 
not  indorse  your  conclusion.  I  admit  nothing ;  I  evade  noth- 
ing. There  is  nothing  in  my  coming  here  or  going  some- 
where else,  my  shooting  or  not  shooting,  my  making  friends 
with  a  singularly  pleasant  and  clever  young  man,  and,  in  con- 
sequence, wishing  to  stand  by  him  at  a  moment  when  he  has 
need  of  a  friend — nothing,  I  say  that  cannot  be  explained,  in 
the  most  obvious  and  simple  manner  in  two  words — individual 
taste." 

The  veins  on  Charles  Hillyard's  broad  forehead  swelled  with 
a  sudden  flushing  of  his  cold  face. 

"I  certainly  have  not  come  to  have  a  skirmish  of  empty 
words  with  you.  Colonel  Fargus,  the  last  time  we  met  you 
showed  yoiu-self  my  enemy." 

"No,  no,  my  dear  sir,"  interposed  Fargus;  "enemy  is  the 
wrong  word ;  indeed,  I  wish  you  well.     Say  adversary." 

"Adversary  be  it ;  what  does  it  matter  ?  I  have  come  to  play 
an  open  game  with  you,  sir " 

"That  you  will  always  find  to  your  advantage,"  interrupted 
Fargus.  "Had  you  not  played  in  the  dark  so  much  heretofore 
you  might  not  have  lost  the  trick." 


The  "  Slip,*'  or  "  Hangman»s  "  Knot.  207 

"Pray  let  me  speak,"  cried  Charles,  angrily.  "I  am  here, 
Colonel  Fargus,  in  consequence  of  that  covert  hint  of  yours, 
to  come  to  some  agreement  advantageous  to  us  both." 

"A  covert  hint  of  mine  ?    Please  explain." 

"What  an  actor  you  are !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with 
undisguised  insolence.  "You  are  right  to  be  cautious  on  prin- 
ciple, but  surely  this  is  a  rather  unnecessary  assumption  of  in- 
nocence. It  forces  me  to  be  all  the  plainer  with  you.  You, 
Colonel  Fargus,  have  come  down  here  on  the  chance  of  mak- 
ing a  good  thing  out  of  a  contested  inheritance,  aiding  and 
abetting  the  unrightful  claimant.  Oh,  I  have  followed  you 
step  by  step  since  you  swooped  down  into  this  part  of  the 
world ;  I  have  pieced  the  whole  plot  together.  When  you  first 
arrived  on  the  scene,  it  is  true,  you  puzzled  me  considerably. 
Your  appearance  at  the  Lone  Grange  was  very  nicely  timed,  it 
must  be  owned.  How  you  managed  to  collate  so  much  before- 
hand of  Lewis'  history  I  cannot  pretend  to  discover — but  it 
little  matters.  Whether  you  are  the  real  Fargus  or  not  is  like- 
wise immaterial.  It  quite  suffices  that  you  did  find  out  all 
you  required  concerning  the  supposed  next  heir  during  the 
time  you  spent  here  before  the  squire's  death.  After  that 
event,  which  coincides  neatly  with  Lewis'  return  from  India, 
you  start  off  to  Homburg.  Without  loss  of  time  you  got 
round  him  completely,  and  one  way  or  another  have  persuaded 
him  to  think  and  act  exactly  as  it  suits  your  purpose.  By  the 
same  extraordinary  luck  which  throughout  has  attended  your 
clever  schemes,  the  master  key  to  the  situation  has  actually 
been  placed  in  your  hands  by  one  careless  act  of  mine.  Mark 
you.  Colonel  Fargus,  I  do  not  accuse  Lewis  of  conspiring  with 
you  to  this  fraud.  You  are  willing  to  wait;  you  keep  these 
proofs  of  my  rights  and  his  inability  from  him;  you  bide  your 
time,  and  back  this  pitiful  dupe  of  yours  with  any  amount  of 
fair  words  now.  But  when  once  he  has  entered  into  posses- 
sion, when  he  has  married  perhaps,  on  the  strength  of  it,  and 
spent  money  as  fast  as  most  young  men  do  on  such  occasions, 
then  will  be  your  opportunity.  Then,  indeed,  will  your  hold  on 
the  situation  prove,  if  cleverly  utilized,  a  very  mine  of  wealth 
to  you;  then,  you  think,  will  Lewis  be  willing  to  barter  con- 
science for  the  sake  of  position,  and  wife,  and  chidren  per- 
haps ;  and  then  will  those  papers  be  as  valuable  an  investment 
as  can  be  imagined.  Poor  simpleton  Lewis,  he  little  knows 
what  a  fate  it  is  I  would  try  to  save  him  from !" 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Fargus,  who  had  listened  courteous 
and  unruffled  as  ever,  "you  have  made  a  very  ingenious  story 
of  it  all,  and  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  at  least  willing  to 
credit  your  cousin  with  common  honesty  at  present,  though 


2o8  The  "  Slip,"  or  "  Hangman's  »  Knot. 

you  seem  inclined  to  refuse  it  to  him  in  the  future  you  have 
sketched  out  for  him.    But  you  have  more  to  say,  no  doubt  ?" 

"Ah,"  muttered  Charles,  "I  thought  we  should  come  to  busi- 
ness !  Yes,  I  have  still  to  touch  upon  the  point  which  alone 
interests  you.  Well,  sir,  in  plain  words,  what  are  your  hopes 
worth?  What  are  you  willing  to  sell  your  chance  of  future 
hush-money  for  ?" 

"Really,"  said  Fargus,  an  undefinable  smile  on  his  face,  "I 
hardly  know  which  to  admire  most  in  you — ^your  delightful 
frankness  in  communicating  your  thoughts  or  your  skillful 
reticence  in  concealing  them.  You  were  flattering  enough  to 
say,  when  last  we  met,  that  I  should  have  made  a  good  ad- 
vocate; let  me  return  the  compliment  now,  and  regret,  from 
the  aesthetic  point  of  view,  that  your  talents  should  have  been 
lost  to  diplomacy." 

For  a  moment,  blackly  and  in  silence,  he  scanned  his  com- 
panion's face,  then  said : 

"You  think.  Colonel  Fargus,  that  this  woman's  treachery 
has  left  me  powerless.  You  are  wrong;  I  am  determined  to 
get  my  own.  Although  these  documents  would  facilitate  mat- 
ters for  me,  they  are  not  indispensable.  Now  listen  again; 
give  them  up  to  me.  I  know  you  have  got  them — I  even  saw 
you  put  them  in  your  desk  just  now,  or  I  am  much  mistaken. 
Give  them  up  to  me,  and  I  am  willing  in  exchange  to  bind 
myself  to  pay  you  right  well  for  them  when  I  come  into  the 
estate.  I  will  bind  myself  thereto  by  deed  beforehand,  if  you 
like.  The  property  will  bear  a  strain,  and  I  am  prepared  to 
make  a  sacrifice;  anything  in  reason  you  ask  shall  be  forth- 
coming." 

"Is  it  not  curious,"  said  Fargus,  "that  if  these  papers  are 
tiot  necessary  to  your  designs,  you  should  be  willing  to  go  to 
such  lengths  to  get  them  back  ?" 

Charles  now  fairly  gnashed  his  teeth. 

"Yes  or  no  ?"  he  exclaimed,  fiercely,  coming  up  close  to  Fer- 
gus, and  standing  over  him  menacingly. 

"No,"  cried  the  latter  in  a  loud  voice,  rising  in  his  turn  and 
confronting  his  nephew  with  commanding  eyes .  "Mr.  Hill- 
yard,  clever  as  you  are,  you  have  mistaken  your  man  this 
time!" 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Charles  tried  to  fight  his  adver- 
sary's glance  with  defiant  eyes,  only  to  turn  away  at  last  and 
fall  to  perambulating  the  room,  unable  to  remain  still  any 
longer  under  the  pulse  of  his  angry  blood. 

Fargus  strolled  to  the  window,  and  for  a  while  looked  out 
with  rapidly  recovering  placidity,  then  came  back  to  his  writ- 
ing-table, and,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  it  in  a  careless  attitude, 
fell  to  filling  a  pipe;  and  to  give  him  the  necessary  opportuni- 


The  "  Slip,"  or  "  Hangman's  "  Knot.    209 

ty  to  cool  down,  bestowing  no  more  attention  for  tlie  present 
on  his  nephew,  who  continued  his  walk  to  and  fro  behind  him. 

Presently  the  fitful  footsteps  on  the  brick  floor  ceased,  and, 
with  a  sudden  sense  of  caution,  though  he  had  no  explicable 
reason  for  alarm,  the  American  dropped  his  hand  on  the  re- 
volver, which  still  reposed  on  the  table  by  his  side.  But  his 
caution  was  too  late;  there  was  not  the  danger.  Suddenly, 
with  a  rude  slash,  a  bight  of  cord  fell  about  his  shoulders,  and, 
with  lightning  speed,  two  feverish  hands  bore  it  down  and 
tightened  it  mercilessly  over  his  elbows. 

"My  last  resort,  Colonel,"  said  a  panting  whisper  in  his  ear, 
while  Charles'  white  face  bent  over  him,  and  the  same  ruth- 
lessly determined  hands  wound  the  fall  of  the  rope  round  his 
throat,  and,  directed  by  well  thought-out  premeditation,  se- 
cured the  end  to  the  prisoner's  wrists,  which  were  now  fiercely 
pulled  together,  careless  of  possible  dislocation. 

"Sorry  for  you,"  said  Charles,  rapidly  securing  the  last 
knot.     "But  you  must  be  still,  or  you  will  strangle  yourself." 

The  whole  onslaught  was  carried  on  with  such  nervous, 
savage  vigor,  and  had  taken  him  so  completely  unawares, 
that,  despite  superior  physical  strength,  Fargus  found  him- 
self overpowered,  helplessly  bound,  and  at  his  nephew's 
mercy,  without  having  been  able  to  make  even  a  show  of 
resistance. 

"You  cowardly  dog !"  he  cried,  indignantly.  Struggling  to 
his  feet,  he  threw  all  of  his  power  into  one  effort  to  release 
himself,  the  only  result  of  which,  however,  was  to  produce  an 
ominous  foretaste  of  the  strangulation  he  had  just  been 
warned  against,  and  a  conviction  that  the  cord,  far  from  yield- 
ing, would  cut  him  to  the  bone. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Charles,  who  had  confidently  watched 
the  experiment,  and  now  came  round  in  front  of  his  prisoner 
and  examined  him  with  a  pale  smile  that  had  something  al- 
most fiendish  in  its  calm  satisfaction.  "I  don't  know  whether 
you  are  acquainted  with  the  peculiarity  of  the  slip,  or  hang- 
man's knot;  such  a  knot  now  secures  your  elbows,  and  you 
have  an  opportunity  to  recognize  its  absolute  steadfastness." 

Fargus  sat  down  again  without  answering,  and  waited  for 
his  assailant's  next  move.  Mr.  Hillyard  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  silk  handkerchief,  which  he  proceeded  to  fold  with  slow  de- 
liberation. 

"I  wish,"  he  remarked,  "to  use  as  little  violence  as  possible ; 
but  lest  you  should  take  it  into  your  head  to  call  for  assist- 
ance, I  shall  have  to  gag  you,  and  when  I  have  got  out  the 
papers  I  want " 

"Pray  don't  do  that,"  interrupted  Fargus,  who  now  once 
more  compelled  Charles'  secret  admiration  by  his  control 


2IO   The  "Slip,"  or  "Hangman's"  Knot. 

over  emotion.  "Since  that  wound  to  my  face,  I  find  it  some- 
what difficult  to  breathe  freely  through  the  nostrils  alone.  I 
acknowledge  myself  vanquished.  If  I  were  to  call,  there  is  no 
one  about  who  could  help  me;  but  I  will  give  you  my  word  not 
to  do  so.     You  are  master  of  the  situation." 

Charles  hesitated,  but  ultimately  replaced  the  handkerchief 
in  his  pocket. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he,  coolly;  "your  servant  has  gone  to 
Norton.  I  saw  him  on  the  road.  You  might  scream  forever 
before  any  one  could  hear  you  from  the  kitchen.  You  see. 
Colonel,  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  so  difficult  to  convince. 
But  I  knew  you  had  those  papers — that  they  must  be  in  the 
house,  and  that  if  I  had  to  search  it  through  and  through  I 
should  find  them  in  the  end. 

"I  have,"  said  Fargus,  "given  you  my  word.  Now  let  me 
tell  you  that  the  documents  you  look  for  are  not  here,  nor,  in- 
deed, any  longer  in  existence." 

Charles  gazed  at  the  elder  man  as  if  uncertain  whether  such 
a  plea  could  be  made  in  sober  earnest. 

"The  key  of  your  desk  is,  I  believe,  on  your  watch-chain. 
Allow  me  to  detach  it." 

The  blood  mounted  to  Fargus'  face  as  the  young  man's  fair 
head  bent  over  his  breast  and  the  unscrupulous  fingers  neatly 
detached  the  small  ring  of  keys.  Yet  anger  was  quickly 
merged  in  the  consternation  of  realizing  that  disloyal  eyes 
were  going,  from  the  very  outset,  to  pry  into  that  secret  he 
was  so  earnest  to  keep  from  all  except  his  son. 

"You  are  disgracing  your  name,"  he  said,  as  his  nephew  now 
quietly  turned  to  the  writing-table  and  inserted  the  key  into 
the  lock  of  the  desk ;  "and  what  is,  no  doubt,  more  to  you,  you 
are  playing  the  fool.  You  will  find  there  none  but  private 
papers,  which  you  have  no  right  to  lay  a  finger  on." 

Charles  looked  round,  while  he  raised  the  lid  of  the  desk 
with  one  hand. 

"You  seem  strangely  anxious  to  keep  me  from  this  desk,  if  it 
contains  nothing  of  importance  to  me." 

He  stooped  over  the  open  box,  searched  for  and  drew  out  the 
long  envelope.  "Aha !  what  of  this  ?  This  bold  address,"  tak- 
ing a  step  toward  the  bound  man,  and  looking  down  on  him 
with  mocking  eyes,  "I  had  seen  already,  as  the  letter  lay  on 
your  table,  and  it  struck  me  that  you  must  be  a  very  method- 
ical person  to  load  your  piece  so  long  before  you  mean  to  fire 
it  off.  It  was  written  too  minutely  for  me  to  make  out  at 
such  a  distance,  but  what  does  it  say  ?  'In  the  matter  of  the 
Estate  of  GiUiam.'  You  appear  somewhat  upset.  It  would 
have  been  better,  would  it  not  now,  to  have  closed  with  my 
offer  at  once?    You  did  not  know  your  man.    Now  I  will  tell 


The  "Slip,"  or  "Hangman's"  Knot.   211 

you,  just  to  show  who  is  the  fool  this  time,  that  I  was  ready 
to  give  you  well-nigh  a  third  of  my  coming  f  ortiine — it  is  now 
once  more  practically  mine,  you  see,"  shaking  the  packet  be- 
fore the  prisoner's  eyes,  "for  my  chances  were  uncommonly 
poor  without  this." 

Fargus  remained  silent.  Mr.  Hillyard,  with  a  smile  of  in- 
solent triumph,  placed  the  papers  in  his  breast-pocket,  closed 
the  desk,  and  laid  the  key  on  the  lid. 

"Now,  Colonel  Fargus,"  he  said,  "I  believe  we  are  quits.  I 
regret  to  have  to  tear  myself  away,  but  I  think  I  had  better 
cut  across  the  moor,  whence  I  can  take  train  for  London.  I 
hope  your  servant  may  return  to  release  you.  As  for  me,  no 
one  has  seen  me  here  or  hereabouts  but  you.  Good-after- 
noon !" 

"One  moment!"  cried  Fargus.  "A  few  minutes  more  or 
less  can  make  little  difference  to  you,"  pursued  the  latter  in 
the  same  manner.  "You  have  rendered  me  perfectly  helpless, 
and  you  know  my  servant  could  not  possibly  be  back  from  the 
town  yet.  Do  you  not  think  it  might  be  advisable  to  examine 
that  packet  before  you  carry  it  away  with  you  ?" 

A  darkening  shadow  came  over  the  visitor's  triumphant 
face.  Sitting  down  on  the  sill,  he  pulled  out  the  parcel  in 
question.  As  he  did  so  the  seal  for  the  first  time  attracted 
his  attention.     He  looked  at  it  closely. 

"The  Kerrs'  talbots!  How  on  earth Oh,  that  nin- 
compoop Lewis  again,  of  course !"  and  tore  open  the  envelope 
with  impatient  hand. 

For  the  moment  he  seemed  actually  stunned. 

"You  see,"  put  in  Fargus,  "that  what  I  said  was  true ;  these 
matters  do  not  concern  you.  You  would  do  better  to  believe 
me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  too  sincere  a  regard  for  Lewis, 
too  deep  a  conviction  of  his  rights,  not  to  have  destroyed  all 
the  circumstantial  evidence  you  had  collected,  at  once,  when 
I  had  the  chance." 

Charles  turned  a  murderous  look  upon  the  si)eaker,  but  re- 
sumed his  examination  without  replying. 

"And  now,"  continued  Fargus,  "perhaps  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  restore  these  private  writings  of  mine  into  the  en- 
velope and  replace  them  in  the  desk. 

"No,  by  !"  answered  the  nephew,  hoarsely.     "I  don't 

forget  how  obviously  anxious  you  were  to  keep  me  from  it. 
-A-s,  by  your  own  handwriting,  it  concerns  Gilham,  it  must 
concern  me." 

"Do  so,  then,  but  never  presume  again  to  call  yourself  gen- 
tleman," exclaimed  Fargus.  "The  perusal  of  other  people's 
letters  is  evidently  a  favorite  practice  of  yours.    God  indeed 


«ia  The  Circle  Narrows. 

was  merciful  in  that  he  spared  your  mother  the  knowledge  of 
you  as  you  are !" 

Coming"  over  to  the  table,  he  once  more  spread  the  written 
sheets  out  before  him,  and  began  to  glance  through  them  with 
cynical  deliberation. 

Matters  were  past  remedy,  and  Fargus  waited  for  what 
should  follow. 

There  was  not  long  to  wait.  Charles  Hillyard  had  barely 
turned  over  the  first  sheet  when  he  gave  vent  to  a  prolonged 
whistle. 

"Indeed !  So  that  is  your  game,  Colonel  Fargus.  No  won- 
der my  modest  offer  did  not  tempt  you,  when  you  aim  at 
nothing  less  than  the  whole  pile.  So  it  is  to  be  a  venerable 
dodge  of  personation  after  all.  And  who  is  to  oust  you  if  your 
son — the  heir  but  for  you — chooses  to  acknowledge  his  parent 
resuscitated  from  over  the  seas,  to  share  in  his  good  luck  ?  It 
is  a  clever  scheme,  Colonel,  upon  my  word !" 

During  the  course  of  this  insulting  summing-up  of  his  be- 
havior Fargus  had  grown  quite  calm  again. 

"I  neither  expect  you  to  believe,  nor  care  whether  you  do  or 
not,  that  I  am  George  Kerr.  If,  however,  you  read  further 
in  the  papers  that  you  have  now  violated,  you  will  see  that 
my  sole  object  in  disclosing  the  secret  of  my  past  to  my  son 
is  to  remove  any  lurking  doubt  he  may  have  as  to  his  birth- 
right, and  if  I  choose  to  give  him  what  belongs  to  me,  there 
is  no  law  of  God  or  man  to  forbid  me. 

"If  you  choose  to  go  on  with  it  now,  you  will  see  that  I  de- 
cline to  touch  a  penny  of  my  son's  money,  and  charge  Lewis 
most  solemnly  to  keep  the  secret  from  every  one." 

"You  are  really  exceedingly  entertaining!"  broke  in 
Charles.  "I  daresay  you  think,  too,  that  you  will  be  able  to 
carry  through  this  gigantic  fraud  of  yours  without  further 
opposition.  I  fancy  I  may  have  some  disagreeable  little  sur- 
prise in  store  for  you  there.  Let  me  see ;  I  am  quite  anxious 
to  find  out  first  how  you  work  your  case  out." 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

THE      CIRCLE      NARROWS. 

Once  more  there  was  silence,  while  Charles  now  method- 
ically perused  the  close  writing.  Fargus  rose  from  his  chair, 
wearied  by  his  strained  position  and  galled  by  his  bonds,  and 
began  to  walk  to  and  fro  with  heavy  tread. 

At  length  Charles  slowly  freed  him,  not  to  speak,  but  to 
favor  him  with  another  prolonged  scrutiny.    He  had  absently 


The  Circle  Narrows.  ai3 

taken  up  the  pistol  that  lay  at  his  elbow  on  the  table,  and,  as 
though  unconscious  of  the  act,  was  weighing  and  balancing  it 
in  his  hand.  The  young  man's  handsome  face  bore  again  a 
different  expression,  and  in  it  Fargus  thought  he  discovered 
now  a  sullen,  despairing  consciousness  of  defeat. 

But  in  reality  the  disappointed  man  was  still  too  firmly  per- 
suaded that  the  hateful  interloper  was  an  adventurer  of  the 
worst  description  to  assign  any  but  the  lowest  motives  to  his 
conduct. 

He  was  roused  from  his  darkling  speculations  by  his  com- 
panion, who,  installing  himself  as  comfortably  as  his  fetters 
would  allow  on  a  corner  of  the  broad  table,  thus  addressed 
him: 

"You  are  beaten,  my  dear  nephew.  And  now  let  me  speak 
to  the  practical  man,  and  suggest  that  it  might  be  more  ad- 
vantageous to  have  me  as  a  friend  than  as  an  enemy." 

Here  Charles'  gathering  rage  broke  loose,  all  the  more 
virulent  for  being  an  unfamiliar  emotion  with  him. 

"Stop  a  moment.  Colonel  Fargus!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
furious  gesture  of  the  hand  that  toyed  with  the  pistol;  "all 
this  paternal  drivel  may  have  hoodwinked  that  simpleton 
Lewis,  but  I  am  not  allured  so  smoothly,     I  can  tell  you  in 

two  words  what  you  are,  and  what,  by  !     I  mean  to 

bring  home  to  you ;  a  swindler,  a  clever  swindler,  sir.  Deter- 
mined to  sneak  yourself  into  the  property  you  somehow  or 
other  got  wind  of,  and  too  clever — I  misjudged  you  there — to 
openly  blazon  your  insolent  and  ridiculous  impersonation  of 
the  late  George  Kerr  to  the  world  at  large,  you  thought  you 
would  at  least  supply  the  required  paternity  to  the  unrightful 
heir.  Once  established  as  his  father,  you  would  never  think 
of  dispossessing  him — of  course  not;  there  would  remain  a 
charming  mystery  between  you  two,  a  romantic  situation  ad- 
mirably suited  to  that  dolt's  sentimental  mania;  one  which, 
properly  farmed,  would  prove,  however,  a  very  pretty  invest- 
ment. But,  mark  me,  Mr.  Fargus,  or  Colonel  Fargus,  or  who- 
ever the  devil  you  are,  I  will  have  none  of  it  I" 

"You  impudent  jackanapes!"  interrupted  Fargus,  "you  for- 
get yourself!"  A  sharp  wrench  at  his  shoulder  checked  the 
indignant  movement  with  which  he  would  have  beaten  aside 
the  menacing  barrel,  and  reminded  him  forcibly  of  his  helpless 
position. 

"It  is  you  who  forget  yourself.  Colonel  Fargus!  For  the 
moment,  at  least,  I  am  master  of  the  situation.  Insolent,  am 
I?  What  if  I  were  to  chastise  you  for  your  insolence,  your 
cursed  assumption  of  authority  ?"  He  stopped  a  moment  and 
bent  his  head  nearer,  to  peer  into  Fargus'  face  with  eyes  haK 
closed,  lowered  brow  and  curling  lip.    "You  forget  we  are 


at4  ^^^  Circle  Narrows. 

here  alone.  What  if  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  which 
has  just  seized  me,  to  make  sure  ?  Here  is  your  pistol  in  my 
hand;  there  are  your  letters  telling  a  circumstantial  tale,  and 
looking  as  though  written  for  a  testament.  Its  wild  improba- 
bility would  be  more  readily  believed  from  the  dead  than 
from  the  living.  Colonel  Fargus,  so  it  is  likely  I  should  have 
to  make  some  judicious  cuttings  there,  you  know.  .  .  . 
What,  I  say,  if  when  your  servant  returns  he  should  find  you 
stretched  there  with  a  bullet  in  your  head  and  your  hand  still 
clutching  the  weapon  that  sped  it?  You  are  a  man  of  mys- 
terious habits,  whom  no  one  here  knows  anything  about; 
what  more  plausible  than  a  suicide,  eh.  Colonel  ?" 

Fargus,  in  his  helplessness,  felt  his  blood  run  cold.  A  vis- 
ion of  descending  death  smote  his  strong  heart  with  terror. 

"What  if  the  suicide  were  to  be  consummated  now?" 
Charles  went  on,  once  more  taking  aim  with  the  revolver. 

Fargus  sprang  up  with  a  cry  that  rang  loudly  through  the 
room. 

"Madman !  do  you  really  mean  murder  ?" 

The  burst  of  mocking  laughter  which  escaped  Charles'  lips 
suddenly  died  upon  them.  A  door  swung  violently  open.  A 
look  of  fearful  astonishment,  then  of  returning  rage,  passed 
over  his  pale  face,  as  petrified  into  his  menacing  attitude,  he 
stared  at  the  apparition. 

"Maude  .  .  .  ?  Hilda,  you  again !"  An  uncontrollable 
spasm  passed  through  his  frame.  He  raised  his  hand  and 
shook  it  angrily  at  the  intruder.  There  was  a  flash,  a  loud 
explosion,  a  scream;  Fargus  felt  the  well-remembered  pufF  of 
a  bullet  by  his  cheek,  and  turned  round.  With  an  exclama- 
tion of  dismay  he  saw  Hilda  Wren,  her  arm  still  extended 
with  a  gesture  at  once  forbidding  and  entreating,  in  the  act 
of  falling  forward.  The  bullet  had  dashed  through  her  open, 
deprecating  palm,  unflinchingly  sped  through  the  shoulder,  to 
end  its  straight  course  in  the  oaken  doorcase  behind  her. 

Fargus  could  not  stop  her  fall;  he  looked  back  fiercely  at 
Charles,  who  stood  as  if  petrified,  still  holding  the  smoking 
pistol  in  his  outstretched  hand. 

"Merciful  God !  you  have  done  murder,  after  all !" 

But  the  young  man  seemed  too  completely  dazed  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  words;  he  turned  his  head  away. 
Fargus  thought  that  he  was  meditating  escape. 

"Coward!"  he  thundered,  "would  you  dare  to  nin  away?" 

This  time  the  accusation  stung  Charles.  Answering  only 
with  a  dark  look  of  anger,  he  threw  the  pistol  from  him  and 
crossed  hastily  over  to  where  Hilda  lay,  her  dark  head  pil- 
lowed on  the  uninjured  arm,  the  other  still  rigidly  out- 
stretched.   He  dropped  on  one  knee  and  stooped  to  raise  her. 


The  Circle  Narrows.  215 

but  the  sight  of  her  impassive  face,  ashen  white  against  the 
deep  blood  stains  that  spread  with  such  suggestive  rapidity 
under  the  thin  fabric  of  the  summer  dress,  seemed  to  strike 
him  with  a  terrible  apprehension. 

"Good  Lord,  she  looks  like  death !" 

"It  will  be  death  if  this  bleeding  be  not  stopped,"  exclaimed 
Fargus.  "Take  that  clasp  knife  on  the  table  and  cut  me  out 
of  these  ingenious  bonds  of  yours,  unless  you  mean  to  murder 
the  poor  girl  in  deliberate  earnest!  Pull  yourself  together, 
man !  Ah,  at  last !  Now,  in  that  room  to  the  right  you  will 
find  water,  towels,  sponges — ^bring  me  a  sheet  off  the  bed,  too; 
I  must  have  something  to  make  bandages  of.  Hurry,  man, 
hurry!" 

Fargus,  the  moment  he  found  himself  unpinioned,  had  lift- 
ed the  heavy,  inert  form  onto  the  broad  settee,  slipped  a  big 
book  from  the  table  under  the  helpless  head,  and  now,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  set  to  work  with  skillful  touch  to 
cut  the  sopping  clothes  from  the  bleeding  arm  and  shoulder. 
As  the  white,  firm-skinned  flesh  was  laid  bare  before  him,  it 
was  with  a  sense  of  relief  he  noticed  that  the  direction  the 
bullet  haa  taken  was  one  which  rendered  the  hurt,  if  the 
hemorrhage  was  only  got  under,  not  otherwise  serious. 

An  extemporized  tampon  to  the  shoulder  and  a  tourniquet 
to  the  armpit,  hastily  fabricated  from  strips  of  torn  sheets  and 
a  stout  silver  pencil-case,  sufiiced  for  the  moment  to  meet  the 
principal  danger — the  welling  bursts  of  bright  red  blood  which 
drained  away,  with  each  slow  heart-beat,  a  portion  of  that  un- 
conscious life. 

The  two  worked  earnestly  together,  but,  save  for  the  few 
laconic  directions  of  Fargus,  in  complete  silence. 

At  the  American's  suggestion  they  carried  the  still  inani- 
mate woman  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  laid  her  on  the  bed, 
where,  after  some  minutes,  they  succeeded  in  bringing  back 
consciousness. 

Fargus,  who,  on  the  first  flush  of  returning  life,  had  laid  a 
gentle  hand  on  her  arm,  lest  some  sudden  movement  should 
undo  all  his  handiwork,  now  bent  over  her  and  spoke  with 
soothing  distinctness  into  her  ear : 

"Don't  be  afraid;  it  was  an  accident,  but  there  is  no 
danger." 

But,  without  heeding  him,  her  circled,  purple-lidded  eyes 
sought  her  lover's  face  with  a  gaze  of  wistful  deprecation : 

"Oh,  my  God !"  murmured  the  quivering  lips,  *'Charlie,  I 
prevented  you  doing  it.     It  was  murder !     Oh,  Charlie !" 

The  young  man's  look  in  answer  was  inscrutable.  He 
walked  away,  out  of  sight  of  the  languid,  blood-stained  figure, 
and  stood  by  the  open  window. 


2l6  The  Circle  Narrows, 

The  momentary  bright  flush  upon  Hilda's  face  faded  again 
into  pallor ;  with  a  shiver  and  a  sigh  she  closed  her  eyes. 

"Mr.  Hillyard,"  said  Fargus  in  his  low,  even  voice,  "shut 
the  window,  please;  Miss  Wren  is  cold.  Thank  you.  You 
know  your  way  about  the  house,  I  believe?  Will  you  be  so 
kind  as  to  go  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  the  housekeeper  to  come 
here?" 

Returning  the  suspicious  glance  his  nephew  cast  upon  him, 
before  leaving  the  room,  Fargus,  when  he  had  traced  the  re- 
treating steps  to  a  sufficient  distance,  turned  once  more  to 
his  patient. 

"Try  not  to  give  way  to  agitatioife"  said  he.  "You  are  now 
in  no  danger  if  you  do  nothing  to  bring  on  the  bleeding  again. 
You  saved  my  life  to-day,  for  though  that  foolish  fellow  did 
not  mean  murder,  as  you  thought,  that  playing  at  it  was  a 
dangerous  thing,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  your  opportime  ap- 
pearance, my  child,  your  lover  would  now  be  in  an  awkward 
fix,  I  fancy.  Hillyard  vnll  come  to  see  things  in  their  true 
light  by-and-by.  You  may  live  to  look  upon  this  day's  work 
as  the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened  both  for  you  and 
for  him.  You  guess  my  meaning,  I  see;  and  you  may  be 
sure  I  believe  what  I  say.  Short  as  has  been  our  acquaint- 
ance, I  think  we  can  trust  each  other.  Here,  drink  a  little 
more  of  this  brandy.     Are  you  in  great  pain  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Hilda  faintly.  "My  hand  is  so  cold,  and 
my  shoulder  burns  like  a  coal." 

"But  you  can  bear  it.  You  must  pay  the  price  of  success, 
you  know." 

She  smiled  gratefully  back  at  his  kindly  face ;  but  he  per- 
emptorily interrupted  the  eager  assurance  that  rose  to  her 
lips. 

"Here  is  Mrs.  Sutton,  my  housekeeper ;  she  will  sit  with  you 
till  the  doctor  makes  his  appearance,  and  Charles  shall  go  for 
him  at  once.  I  am  convinced  there  is  good  to  come  out  of 
this  business." 

After  a  few  brief  orders  to  the  old  housekeeper,  who  cour- 
tesied  a  trembling  and  bewildered  acquiescence  under  the 
stern  eye  that  admitted  of  neither  question  nor  outcry,  Fargus 
turned  to  leave  the  room  in  time  to  arrest  Charlie  on  the 
threshold. 

"You  must  not  go  in  again;  you  will  only  disturb  her. 
Come  with  me ;  there  is  something  which  it  is  necessary  should 
be  arranged  between  us  now." 

Chaxlie  silently  acquiesced,  and  the  two  men  passed  to- 
gether into  the  sitting-room. 

Pointing  to  the  scattered  fragments  of  his  whilom  bonds,  he 
remarked  dryly  to  his  companion : 


The  Circle  Narrows.  317 

"Your  scientific  slip-knot  might  well  have  meant  an  equally 
artistic  and  secure  noose  for  your  own  neck,  Mr.  Hillyard. 
You  would  have  found  the  theory  of  suicide  somewhat  difficult 
to  maintain,  I  fear,  had  that  poor  girl's  interruption  been  but 
one  minute  later — indeed,  if  that  bullet  had  sped  but  one  inch 
more  to  the  right,  you  would  have  had  quite  as  difficult  a  task 
to  prove  manslaughter  only  under  such  suspicious  circum- 
stances." 

"Pray,"  asked  Charles  with  a  sneer,  "is  this  the  theme  you 
would  confer  with  me  upon?" 

Fargus  turned  to  answer  hotly  enough,  but  as  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  young  man  a  change  came  over  his  face. 

"You  are  right,"  said  he  at  length.  "This  is  a  time  for 
deeds,  not  words ;  it  is  important  that  Miss  Wren  should  have 
proper  surgical  treatment  as  soon  as  possible — you  will  have 
to  go  for  the  doctor  at  once." 

Charles  started  with  an  expression  of  angry  unwillingness- 
Fargus  continued  unperturbed : 

"It  is,  I  see,  an  unwelcome  task.  My  presence  here  is  abso- 
lutely indispensable,  for  were  the  bandages  to  get  displaced, 
the  girl  would  simply  bleed  to  death  in  a  few  minutes.  You 
cannot,  therefore,  in  common  humanity,  refuse  a  service 
whicn  you  alone  can  undertake.  Come  to  the  stables  with  me, 
while  I  saddle  a  horse  for  you;  we  can  there  talk  over  that 
matter  which  must  be  settled  before  you  start." 

Charles  bowed  his  head  after  another  rapid  self -consulta- 
tion. 

"Do  you  know  of  a  reliable  surgeon?"  asked  the  latter, 
with  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  stable  door. 

"Only  the  doctor  who  usually  attends  at  the  court,"  an- 
swered his  nephew.  "I  shall  have  to  hunt  up  some  other  fel- 
low.   Dr.  Smith  is  such  an  old  gossip,  and "     He  stopped 

abruptly  under  the  indignation  which  blazed  upon  him  from 
the  other  man's  eyes. 

"You  forget,"  he  said,  calmly  enough,  "that  the  case  is  one 
which  admits  of  no  delay.  Miss  Wren  is  in  great  suffering; 
her  state  is  serious  enough  to  demand  the  best  care  obtainable. 
You  will,  therefore,  go  to  Dr.  Smith.  What  explanation  do 
you  intend  to  give  the  doctor  about  this  accident  ?" 

"I  ?"  cried  Charles  quickly.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  I  shall 
give  none." 

"Then,  have  you  thought  of  what  my  explanation  must  be?" 

The  young  man  quailed  under  the  steady  gaze  that  never 
quitted  his  face.  "What  do  you  intend  to  say,  may  I  ask?" 
he  inquired. 

"The  truth." 

Charles  answered  by  a  slight  increase  of  pallor.     Fargus  left 


3i8  The  Circle  Narrows. 

the  harness-room  for  the  loose-box,  where,  amid  the  amber 
straw,  a  slender-limbed,  sleek-coated  mare  turned  to  look  at 
him  with  velvet  eyes,  pricking  her  dainty  ears,  and  sniffing  the 
air  with  scarlet  nostrils. 

"Come,"  he  resumed  in  less  severe  tones,  "I  am  anxious  to 
save  you  as  much  as  possible  from  the  consequences  of  your 
reckless  proceedings  to-day.  Some  scandal  must  inevitably 
arise;  I  shall  not  be  the  one  to  spread  it — it  lies  with  you  to 
reduce  it  to  a  minimum." 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  Charles,  shortly. 

"If  it  be  published  to  the  world  at  large,"  Fargus  went  on 
quietly,  as  he  fitted  the  snaffle,  "that  Mr.  Hillyard,  the  rising 
economist,  the  university  don,  the  bearer  of  a  hitherto  so 
honorable  name,  feloniously  broke  into  one  Mr.  Fargus'  house, 
in  order  to  steal  some  papers  which  he  believed  to  be  in  Mr. 
Fargus'  custody — ^papers  which  the  said  Mr.  Hillyard  himself 
has  no  right  to  claim,  but  with  the  aid  of  which  he  hoped  to 
dispossess  his  cousin,  his  friend,  of  an  inheritance — if  it  were 
published  to  the  world  that,  to  this  end,  he  first  assaulted 
treacherously,  then  bound,  and  threatened  to  murder  Mr.  Far- 
gus in  cold  blood — a  consummation  only  prevented  by  the 
timely  interference  of  a  young  lady,  Mr.  Hillyard's  mistress, 
who,  in  despair  at  his  desertion  of  her,  had  come  to  the  Lone 
Grange  to  seek  news  of  him,  and  who,  interrupting  him  at 
this  interesting  juncture,  was  herself  grievously  wounded  by 
him — all  this,  methinks,  would  not  redound  much  to  Mr.  Hill- 
yard's  reputation.  Hush!  Allow  me  to  finish,  pray!  That 
is  what  I  should  have  to  say,  did  you  oblige  me  to  it.  I  should 
owe  it  to  my  own  honor  to  clear  my  house  from  the  smirch 
of  the  scandal  you  have  cast  upon  it ;  and  Miss  Wren,  who,  no 
doubt,  overheard  all  that  passed  between  us,  would  have  to 
bear  witness  to  my  veracity.  But  another  course  is  open  to 
you.  Let  the  world  hear  only  that  Mr.  Hillyard,  while  pay- 
ing a  visit  to  this  Mr.  Fargus,  with  his  wife,  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  shoot  the  latter  through  the  incautious  handling 
of  a  revolver.  Amazement  at  your  secret  and  unequal  mar- 
riage, gossip  about  it,  there  may  be,  but  your  good  name  will 
be  safe,  and  any  one  who  has  the  good  fortune  to  make 
acquaintance  with  your  wife  will  readily  understand  the 
weakness." 

"Still  trying  on  the  game  of  benevolent  relation.  Colonel,  I 
see.  What  a  simple  way  of  getting  rid  of  the  awkward  conse- 
quences attending  the  strange  discovery  of  a  fine  young 
woman,  to  all  appearance  comfortably  established  at  the  Lone 
Grange  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with  that  grave  and  re- 
served persoa,  Colonel  Fargus !    I  grant  you  have  concocted 


The  Circle  Narrows.  219 

a  pretty  likely  plot ;  but,  after  all,  I  am  not  quite  so  absolutely 
in  your  power  as  you  are  pleased  to  suppose." 

Fargus,  one  hand  on  the  mare's  bridle,  had  listened  with 
immovable  intentness  to  this  speech;  and  Charles,  gaining 
fresh  confidence  in  himself  from  his  silence,  proceeded : 

''What  if  the  world  at  large  should  be  told  how  a  certain 
Miss  Wren — a  young  lady  whose  antecedents  will  not  bear 
close  investigation — when  discovered  by  Mr.  Hillyard  in- 
stalled at  the  Lone  Grange,  with  the  most  admirable  self- 
sacrifice  rushed  in  between  her  quondam  lover  and  her  elderly 
entertainer,  to  preserve  the  latter  from  the  possibly  unpleasant 
results  of  the  former's  not  unnatural  jealousy,  and  is  there- 
upon most  accidentally  hurt  in  the  scuffle ;  how  Colonel  Far- 
gus,  in  this  dilemna,  endeavors  by  threats  to  palm  off  the 
aforesaid  compromising  young  woman  as  the  wife  of  a  man 
who  had  once  been  an  admirer  of  hers,  and  who,  in  an  attempt 
to  unravel  a  swindle,  has  still  more  foolishly  given  that  ad- 
venturer a  hold  upon  him?  Would  that  redound  much  to 
Colonel  Fargus'  credit  ?" 

The  elder  man  flvmg  the  bridle  away  from  him  with  so 
sharp  a  gesture  that,  with  a  snort,  the  startled  animal  plunged 
backward.  Then  slowly  he  advanced  toward  Charles,  his 
figure  seeming  to  dilate,  as  he  came ;  his  eyes,  stern  and  pierc- 
ing, fixed  upon  his  nephew  as  if  they  would  search  down  into 
the  depths  of  his  soul  for  his  most  secret  thought;  his  face 
crimson  with  a  generous  flow  of  anger.  He  laid  one  hand 
upon  the  young  man's  shoulder.  The  latter  almost  staggered 
under  it,  as  if  he  felt  it  crush  him  toward  the  earth. 

"Look  at  me,"  he  said,  "and  dare  to  repeat  that  infamy — 
infamy  to  her  whose  only  fault  has  been  love  for  you !  to  me 
for  your  own  consciousness  of  its  falseness !" 

Then,  as  Charles  could  find  no  word  to  answer,  Fargus  went 
on  in  a  voice  that,  despite  himself,  thrilled  his  hearer : 

"Not  by  one  word  will  I  answer  what  you  know  to  be  a  lie. 
Charles  Hillyard,  go  your  way ;  I  have  done  with  you.  You 
can  do  me  no  harm  nor  all  the  evil  tongues  of  the  world. 
Here,  sir;  the  horse  is  ready;  and  remember — if  the  warning 
carry  any  weight  to  such  as  you — ^that  a  life  endangered  by 
you  hangs  on  your  promptitude." 

Still  speechless,  Charles,  mechanically  obedient  to  the 
strong  will,  mounted  as  he  was  told  and  gathered  the  reins 
into  his  hand. 

Then  Fargus,  leading  the  mare  through  the  gate,  turned  her 
head  in  the  direction  of  the  town,  and  released  her  with  a 
stem  "Go!" 

Instinctively  Charles  pressed  his  heels  to  the  sides  of  his 


aao  To  a  Wedding  Ring. 

mount;  lifting  her  graceful  head  to  the  breeze,  she  broke  into 
a  frolicsome  canter. 

Bareheaded  stood  David  Fargus  looking  after  them. 

Slowly  he  retraced  his  steps,  pausing  a  moment  to  gaze  at 
the  desolate  old  house.  Of  all  the  scenes  ever  acted  under  its 
low  roof,  none  stranger,  surely,  than  what  had  taken  place  this 
dayl 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

.     .     .    TO  A  WEDMNQ   RING. 

Over  the  purple  moor,  blind  to  the  beauty  of  sky  and  earth, 
Charles,  shut  up  for  the  moment  within  the  small  world  of  his 
own  mind,  was  conscious  of  but  one  clear  conception;  the 
necessity  of  speedily  fulfilling  his  obnoxious  errand. 

Never  pausing,  never  even  questioning  with  himself,  it  was 
only  when  he  drew  rein  before  the  doctor's  pretentious  gran- 
ite-built house  and  dismounted  to  ring  the  bell  that  he  felt, 
with  some  surprise,  the  exhaustion  of  the  unwonted  exercise 
and  noticed  the  steaming  distress  of  his  horse.  He  passed  his 
hand  over  his  wet  brow,  as  if  awakening  from  a  dream. 

Approaching  footsteps  resounding  along  the  flagged  hall  in- 
side warned  him  that  he  must  come  to  some  settlement  in  the 
present  curious  dilemma.  Hurriedly  determining  to  commit 
himself  to  nothing,  he  was  somewhat  relieved  to  hear  that 
Dr.  Smith  was  out,  but  was  expected  home  every  minute. 

The  proposal  to  wait  hastily  declined,  Charles  wrote  a  brief 
message  ^at  a  visitor  of  Colonel  Fargus',  at  the  Lone 
Grange,  had  been  accidentally  shot  by  a  revolver,  and  that 
Colonel  Fargus  begged  Dr.  Smith  to  attend  to  the  case  as  soon 
as  possible. 

"It  is  urgent,"  added  he  to  the  servant,  "do  not  forget." 
And  satisfied  that  he  had  conscientiously  fulfilled  his  under- 
taken duty,  he  turned  the  little  mare's  head  homeward. 

He  went  but  slowly,  avoiding  the  high-road,  to  minimize  the 
risk  of  an  encounter  with  the  doctor  before  he  had  resolved 
how  to  act. 

He  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  the  sun  had  just 
dipped  below  the  horizon;  Charles  shivered;  he  was  cold  and 
weary,  angry  and  sore  perplexed.  The  scale  seemed  irre- 
vocably turned  against  him.  The  long-craved-for  dream  of 
love ;  the  riches  which  to  him  meant  so  much,  the  deprivation 
of  which  had  galled  him  in  secret  all  his  life ;  position,  power, 
more  open  fields  for  his  great  talents,  for  his  widespreading 
ambition — all  this  had  been  almost  within  his  grasp,  and  inch 


To  a  Wedding  Ring.  ^u 

by  inch  it  was  slipping  from  him  by  the  unexpected  inter- 
ference of  a  stranger,  without  whose  help  his  only  opponent 
would  been  as  wax  in  his  hands. 

Involuntarily  he  reined  in  his  horse  and  struck  his  forehead 
in  passionate  irritation  at  hia  own  impotence  and  aridity  of 
device. 

As  he  paused  in  the  solitary  lane  and  glanced  hopelessly 
over  the  darkening  vista  there  came  vipon  his  inattentive  ear 
the  brisk  trot  of  a  horse  over  the  side  turf  of  the  road,  al- 
ready at  close  quarters,  and,  looking  round,  he  saw  with  a 
contraction  of  the  heart  that  Maude  Woldham  was  beside 
him. 

The  recognition  was  mutual.  Miss  Woldham  reined  in  her 
bright  bay  cob  with  a  cry  of  frank  amazement. 

"Charlie!  how  extraordinary  you  should  be  herel  I  have 
just  this  instant  come  from  your  sisters,  and  they  said  you 
were  installed  at  Cambridge  until  Christmas.  Why,  you  are 
riding  Mr.  Fargus'  mare.  Are  you  stoppng  with  him,  then  ? 
How  unkind  the  girls  will  think  it  of  you  not  to  have  gone  to 
see  them!" 

There  was  a  heightened  glow  upon  her  cheeks,  a  sparkling 
joyousness  in  her  eyes. 

Without  a  word  he  extended  his  hand,  but  before  it  could 
close  round  the  slim  fingers,  she  had  drawn  them  back  from 
his  touch  with  a  slight  scream. 

"Oh!  what  is  it?  Your  cuff  is  steeped  in  blood!  Are  you 
hurt?" 

Charles  flushed  a  sullen  crimson. 

"I  have  had  to  go  to  Colonel  Fargus,  on  business,"  he 
answered  haltingly.  "There  was  an  accident  ...  to  one 
of  his  dogs ;  caught  its  leg  in  a  trap,  or  something.  I  never 
noticed  the  disgusting  mess  the  brute  had  made  of  me  till  this 
minute."  Tighter  and  tighter  the  meshes  of  the  net  seemed 
to  be  closing  round  him. 

The  girl  glanced  at  him  wonderingly;  something  in  his 
tone  struck  her  as  strange,  while  his  evident  want  of  feeling 
for  the  dumb  sufferer  impressed  her  animal-loving  mind  dis- 
agreeably. 

"Mr.  Fargus  has  only  one  dog.  Poor  Dinah !  I  am  so  sorry 
she  is  hurt,"  she  cried,  reproachfully. 

There  was  a  pause;  Miss  Woldham  observed  briskly  that 
night  was  coming  on. 

"Papa  would  be  really  angry  if  he  knew  I  was  on  the  road 
so  late,  but  luckily  he  has  gone  to  York  for  the  night." 

"Our  ways  lie  together,  I  think,"  said  Charles,  rousing 
himself.     "I  trust  you  have  no  objection  to  my  company?" 

"I  shall  be  very  glad,"  answered  Maude,  lightly;  "and  as 


^22  To  a  Wedding  Ring. 

it  happens  I  could  not  have  gone  over  the  moor  by  myself  at 
this  hour,  your  escort  will  be  doubly  acceptable.  I  am  sorry 
we  cannot  indulge  in  a  good  canter,  but  I  think  it  would  be 
rather  hard  on  poor  Lady  Jane;  you  must  have  been  taking 
her  at  an  awful  pace."  The  scrutinizing  gaze  that  swept  his 
reeking  steed  here  ended  on  the  rider's  face.  "And  you,  too, 
look  dreadfully  tired;  are  you  ill?  Is  anything  the  matter 
with  you,  Charlie  ?" 

They  had  reached  the  turning-point  of  the  road,  from  which 
the  path  across  the  heath  branched  off.  To  the  right  rose 
viilham,  with  its  sky-defying  pride  of  turret,  pinnacle  and 
vane.  And  between  him  and  that  vision  came  the  swaying 
litheness  of  his  companion's  form,  her  sweet,  inquiring  glance, 
the  tantalizing  beauty  of  her  face.  .  .  .  Maude  and  Gil- 
ham — the  exquisite  woman,  the  goodly  inheritance!  By 
heaven,  he  would  not  give  them  up  without  another  effort  I 

Drawing  his  horse  closer  to  hers,  as  they  turned  away  from 
the  road  on  to  the  springy  turf,  he  bent  forward  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  her  with  passionate  intensity : 

"Maude,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  am  in  great  trouble  of 
mind."  In  the  waning  light  he  saw  the  spreading  iris  of  her 
blue  eyes  look  fearlessly  and  pityingly  back  upon  him. 
"Listen  to  me,  Maude/'  he  went  on,  in  quick,  whispered  tones 
that  quivered  to  the  wild  beating  of  his  heart;  "you  alone  can 
help  me — but  you  must  have  patience  and  let  me  tell  you  all 
first,  before  I  can  show  you  how.  A  month  ago,  as  I  watched 
beside  my  uncle's  death-bed,  he  most  urgently  implored  me 
to  take  into  my  possession  and  make  proper  use  of  some 
papers  addressed  to  Lewis,  which  I  was  to  find  in  his  desk. 
Now,  it  seems  that  just  before  he  died,  my  father,  who  was,  as 
you  know,  Lewis'  guardian,  had  gathered  certain  documents 
together  for  Lewis,  who  was  then  in  India ;  but  his  death  com- 
ing comparatively  suddenly  in  the  end,  they  were  discovered 
by  the  squire,  his  executor,  unsealed." 

A  look  of  astonishment  came  over  Maude's  face,  but  she 
said  nothing,  and  Charles  went  on  with  fresh  impetus: 

"Forgive  this  long  preamble.  My  uncle  then  gave  these 
papers  to  me,  and  made  me  understand  that  the  use  he  wished 
me  to  make  of  them  was  to  keep  an  interloper  from  inheriting 
Gilham.  I  carried  out  his  instructions,  examined  the  parcel 
and  found  proofs  that  Lewis  has  no  right  to  the  name  he 
bears;  in  fact,  that  Gilham  is  mine,  if  I  only  assert  my 
claim." 

Maude,  her  brow  slightly  contracted  with  the  effort  of  com- 
prehension, here  broke  out  with  an  abrupt  exclamation  of 
incredulity. 

"Lewis!    How  can  it  be  possible?    I  don't  understand." 


To  a  Wedding  Ring.  223 

"Have  you  never  heard  of  the  suicide  of  my  uncle,  George 
Kerr,  the  man  supposed  to  be  Lewis'  father  ?  Never  heard  of 
that  strange  scandal  that  the  family  tried  so  hard,  and  in  vain, 
to  hush  up  ?  Maude,  did  it  never  strike  you  as  strange  tihat  the 
squire  all  but  publicly  disowned  his  supposed  nephew  ?  Lewis  is 
the  son  of  George  Kerr's  wife,  but  not  of  George  Kerr ;  it  was 
the  knowledge  of  his  dishonor  that  drove  my  mother's  brother 
to  his  death.  I  had  the  proofs  of  it  in  my  hand,  I  tell  you, 
Maude,  only  a  week  ago.  Lewis  would  have  instantly  with- 
drawn his  claim,  could  I  once  have  convinced  him  that  there 
was  even  room  for  the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  The  papers  were 
treacherously  stolen  from  me  before  I  could  show  them  to  him 
myself.  He  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  sort  of  adventurer, 
and  now  acts  altogether  under  his  advice,  and  looks  upon  me 
as  the  basest  of  individuals  for  even  attempting  to  establish 
my  rights." 

"I  would  like  to  understand  a  little  better,"  interrupted 
Maude.  A  curious  stillness  seemed  to  have  come  over  her, 
and  she  had  bent  her  head  as  if  in  profound  thought.  "This 
— this  discovery  of  yours  was  known  to  Mr.  Hillyard  and  to 
Susie,  and  yet  both  treated  Lewis  as  if  he  were  one  of  the 
family.  Susie  often  told  me  that  she  loved  him  like  a  son, 
and  loved  him  chiefly  because  of  his  resemblance  to  his 
father." 

"Oh!  my  poor  mother  could  never  believe  ill  of  any  one; 
not  even  of  the  woman  who  drove  her  brother  to  suicide — and 
my  father,  he  was  slow  to  pronounce  judgment,  unless  judg- 
ment was  imperatively  required.  To  me,  however,  the  proofs, 
that  were  so  providentially  placed  in  my  hands,  are  as  con- 
vincing as  they  are  to  the  lawyer  to  whom  they  were  shown." 

Charles,  emboldened  by  her  pensive  attitude  and  silence, 
began  again  in  louder  and  more  assured  tones  than  he  had 
yet  been  master  of: 

"You  can  see  why  the  loss  of  these  documents  should  be 
such  a  misfortune  for  me?  Have  you  not  seen  how  I  love 
you?  how  I  have  loved  you  for  years?  I  valued  this  uiiox- 
pected  inheritance  only  because  it  would  set  me  free  to  tell 
you  of  my  love.  Whatever  you  may  have  heard  of  me  during 
that  long  time — ^whatever  doubts  you  may  have  about  me — do 
not  doubt  the  singleness  of  my  passion.  Maude,  I  have  some- 
times thought  that,  in  secret,  your  heart  was  not  averse  to 
me.  My  beautiful  Maude,  tell  me  that  you  will  not  refuse 
me,  if,  as  master  of  Gilham,  I  come  to  lay  all  its  wealth  and 
pride  at  your  feet.  Give  me  your  promise,  and  I  will  have 
strength  to  fight  the  fight  to  the  end,  and  gain  it,  too.  Just 
now  you  appeared  upon  me  as  a  messenger  of  comfort.    I 


224  To  a  Wedding  Ring. 

must  win,  even  against  greater  odds.  May  I  accept  the  good 
omen  ?" 

Charlie's  voice  had  risen  once  more,  clear  and  sonorous  in 
the  silence  of  the  desolate  heath.     Yet  she  said  not  a  word. 

That  silence  which  had  at  first  encouraged  him  now  struck 
the  woer  with  misgivings. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  am  pressing  my  love  on  the  strength 
of  a  hopeless  cause  ?  Believe  me,  it  is  not  so.  Lewis  himself 
is,  unconsciously,  my  strongest  ally;  for  if  he  can  but  once 
be  brought  to  see  the  truth  of  my  statement — be  made  to 
understand  the  whole  case  as  it  really  is — he  will  be  the  first 
to  withdraw  from  the  contest  in  my  favor.  But  to  do  so,  it 
is  necessary  to  unmask  the  unblushing  swindler  who  has  got 
the  lad  in  his  clutches,  and  to  unravel  a  pretty  well-concocted 
conspiracy.  But  with  you  as  an  ally,  with  the  sympathy  of 
your  father,  whose  opinion  has  such  weight  with  every  one,  I 
cannot  doubt  of  ultimate  success.  Maude,  darling  love,  will 
you  help  me  and  give  me  courage  ?" 

"Mr.  Hillyard,"  cried  the  girl  at  last,  in  accents  of  such 
concentrated  indignation  that  her  voice  was  almost  unrecog- 
nizable, "that  is  enough."  Then,  slowly,  so  that  each  word 
fell  by  itself,  as  it  were,  with  the  deliberation  of  a  blow, 
"And  this  is  Susie's  son!  this  cowardly,  treacherous  thief! 
Oh,  let  me  speak!"  passionately  overbearing  his  inarticulate 
cry  of  protestation.  "I  have  listened  to  your  insults  patiently 
enough,  heaven  knows !  I  must  answer  now,  or  I  shall  choke. 
You  ask  me,  sir — me ! — to  help  you  in  your  infamous  plot ! — 
to  be  your  ally  in  striving  to  ruin  the  life  of  your  yoimg 
cousin — to  blast  his  good  name!  you  hold  out  your  chance 
of  success  in  such  a  scheme  as  an  inducement  for  me  to 
marry  you.  Truly,  I  believe  you  deem  me  a  fit  mate  for 
such  as  you,  to  dare  to  come  to  me  with  your  vile  proposal !" 

"Before  Heaven,  Maude,  I  have  not  deserved  this  at  your 
hands!  In  all  openness  and  honesty,  all  confidence  in  you, 
deepest  love — yes,  Maude,  love — I  told  you  how  I  was  placed ; 
I  offered  you  all  a  man  can  offer." 

"All  opeimess  and  honesty!"  echoed  Maude,  in  scathing 
bitterness.  "Yes.  I  will  grant  you  were  open  enough,  in  all 
conscience,  but  honesty — save  the  mark!  Honesty  in  one 
who,  of  his  own  mouth,  confesses  to  having  read  and  appro- 
priated papers  addressed  to  another !  Then  you  find  in  these 
papers  proofs,  forsooth! — proofs  that  are  convincing  to  your 
greedy,  envious  eyes,  which  some  lawyer  tells  you  would  make 
what  you  call  a  'good  case,'  and  show  that  your  cousin  is  no 
Kerr — rob  him  of  his  land,  his  name  that  he  holds  so  dear. 
Of  the  blast,  the  stigma,  on  him,  your  own  kin ;  you  rake  up 
some  miserable  old  story.    I  know  it  all  j  Susie  often  told  me 


To  a  Wedding  Ring.  225 

about  her  brother's  death — and  you  come  to  me  to  get  my 
father  to  lend  weight  of  his  countenance  to  such  a  conspiracy 
— my  father,  the  soul  of  honor  and  chivalry,  who  loves  Lewis 

almost  like  a  son I  ought  to  be  flattered,  truly,  by  your 

confidence,  your  love.  I  don't  care  what  sort  of  evidence  you 
have.  Lewis  is  a  Kerr,  every  inch  of  him;  every  one  has 
always  said  so.  One  has  only  to  compare  him  with  some  of 
the  family  portraits  to  be  convinced  of  it.  If  all  you  say 
were  true — you  whom  Lewis  loved — you  his  friend  of  years — 
if  you  had  one  generous  impulse  in  your  soul,  you  would 
have  thrust  these  proofs  into  the  fire,  and  buried  their  secrets 
in  your  heart." 

"I  see,"  said  Charlie,  bitterly,  "I  see  I  have  made  a  great 
mistake.     The  boy  and  girl  attachment  is  reviving." 

"You  are  wrong  as  well  as  insolent,  Mr.  Hillyard,"  said 
Maude,  her  hot  blood  tingling  in  every  vein  at  the  insinua- 
tion. "Lewis  is  not  my  lover.  But,  of  course,  faithfulness 
to  a  friend  is  a  matter  I  could  not  expect  you  to  understand." 
She  paused,  and  her  thoughts  wandered  back  to  a  scene  under 
a  silver-leaf  aspen  which  trembled  under  the  morning  sun — 
and  there  rose  in  her  generous  heart  a  tide  of  affectionate 
pity  for  the  brave,  loyal  fellow  who  had  looked  at  her  with 
such  true,  sad  eyes  as  she  had  given  the  death-blow  to  his 
hopes  that  sunny  morning.  "But  I  will  tell  you  this,"  she 
added,  with  renewed  indignation,  "that  were  you  as  rich  and 
great  as  you  would  make  yourself — were  you  the  head  of  Gil- 
ham  and  master  of  all  the  country  besides,  and  were  Lewis 
as  poor  as  you  wish  him  to  be,  as  nameless,  as  humiliated,  I 
would  marry  him,  cheerfully  and  gladly,  rather  than  become 
your  wife!  I  liked  you  for  the  sake  of  my  dear  Susie;  I 
used  to  enjoy  hearing  Lewis  sing  the  litany  of  your  praise; 
but  now,"  gathering  up  her  reins  and  turning  back,  as  her 
horse  made  a  spring  forward,  to  cast  a  Parthian  shaft  at  the 
scowling,  gloom-enveloped  figure  behind  her — "now  that  I 
know  you,  as  no  one  evidently  has  known  you  yet,  I  have  no 
words  to  tell  you  how  I  hate  and  despise  you !" 

Her  whip  whistled  into  the  dark  air  with  a  sound  that 
struck  him  as  though  she  had  aimed  the  cut  at  his  face,  there 
was  a  dull  thud  of  hoofs  striking  on  the  tiirf,  then  the  re- 
treating, precipitate  cadence  of  a  wild  gallop. 

He  shook  his  reins  and  started  off  on  his  way.  His  mind 
was  made  up;  the  habit  of  stern  practicality  was  too  deeply 
ingrained  to  permit  him  to  contemplate,  after  the  first  heat 
of  passion  had  dissipated.  The  battle  was  lost  and  won ;  he 
was  beaten;  the  feverish  dream  was  over.  He  would  throw 
up  the  sponge — let  Lewis  step  in,  while  Charles  Hillyard 
retired  gracefully  from  the  scene.    His  position  in  his  own 


226  To  a  Wedding  Ring. 

world  could  be  no  worse  than  before;  he  would  have  the 
enviable  position  of  lecturer  and  coach  to  youthful  under- 
graduates, and  of  husband  to — Hilda.     .     .     , 

Down  deep  in  his  heart  somewhere  had  blossomed  shyly,  and 
all  unknown,  a  curious  attachment  to  the  handsome,  faithful 
girl,  and  now,  no  longer  overshadowed  by  more  ambitious 
passions,  he  found  that  it  had  struck  deeper  root  than  he 
could  have  believed. 

She  had  played  him  a  scurvy  trick,  it  was  true,  but  it  was  in 
fear  of  losing  him — him,  whom  Maude  had  just  now  covered 
with  contempt.  What  if  she,  too,  were  to  fail  him  ?  He  had 
never  doubted.  But  she  was  badly  wounded,  and  by  his 
hand.  What  if  she  should  die  ?  What  would  become  of  him 
now  without  Hilda? 

By  a  happy  coincidence,  as  Charles  staggered  into  the 
lighted  sitting-room  at  the  Grange,  to  read  reassurance  of  his 
deadly  fear  in  Fargus'  placid  look,  the  bustling  little  doctor 
entered  by  the  opposite  door. 

Fargus  rose  and  greeted  him  in  a  few  words,  then  markedly 
gave  place  to  his  nephew. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  resting  his  hands  on  the 
table,  as  if  to  support  himself,  but  speaking  with  all  his  old 
deliberateness,  "Doctor,"  said  the  young  man,  "the  person 
who  has  been  so  imfortxinately  wounded  is  my  wife.  I  need 
not  say  how  anxious  I  feel  to  hear  your  opinion  of  her  case." 

As  soon  as  he  had  spoken  he  shot  at  Fargus  a  look  full  of 
such  implacable  defiance  that  it  told  of  an  undying  enmity 
more  explicitly  than  whole  volumes  of  words.  But  even  his 
keen  eyes,  sharpened  as  they  were  by  hatred,  could  read 
neither  triumph  nor  pleasure  on  the  elder  man's  cabn  face. 

"Mrs.  Hillyard  is  in  this  room,"  Fargus  was  saying;  "will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  go  in  to  her  ?" 

Hilda's  wounds  had  been  examined  and  dressed  again. 
The  doctor,  after  many  compliments  to  Charles  on  his  wife's 
great  fortitude  and  her  splendid  physique,  to  Fargus  on  his 
success  and  promptitude  in  arresting  the  blood-flow,  had 
assured  them  that  she  was  in  no  danger,  and  taken  his  leave. 

In  the  dimly-lit  room  Charles  was  sitting  alone  by  her  bed- 
side. The  patient's  eyes  were  closed;  she  seemed  satisfied 
with  Charles'  presence  and  the  mute  assurance  she  had  read 
in  his  face  that  his  anger  against  her  was  over.  Prepared  by 
Fargus'  few  words  of  comfort,  she  was  happy  enough  in  the 
present,  and,  in  her  woman's  shrewdness,  had  accepted  the 
title  bestowed  on  her  by  the  doctor  in  the  most  natural 
manner. 

Charles  looked  at  her  for  a  while  in  silence.    Presently  h« 


Man  Proposes.  227 

stooped  and  kissed  her  left  hand — then  the  large,  taper  third 
finger,  on  which  sat  that  plain  gold  ring  with  its  tacit  lie. 

Startled  by  the  action  she  turned  her  pallid  face  languidly 
toward  him,  and  saw  that  in  her  lover's  eyes  which  she  had 
never  seen  before — something  like  real  tenderness. 

And  in  answer  to  the  mute,  astonished  inquiry : 

"My  girl,"  he  said,  still  trying  to  speak  in  the  careless, 
patronizing  manner  he  generally  assumed  toward  her,  "I 
wonder  whether  you  would  like  me  to  put  that  ring  on  your 
finger  before  the  altar,  the  registrar,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  V 

After  the  doings  of  the  day,  Hilda's  nerves  were  scarcely  as 
strong  as  was  their  wont.  The  tears  again  welled  to  the 
heavy  lids  as  she  pulled  his  hand  feely  up  to  her  hot  lips. 

"Oh,  Charlie !  Charlie !  are  you  really  going  to  raise  me  to 
you  at  last  ?  Plow  can  I  thank  you  ? — how  can  I  tell  you  how 
I  love  you  ?     Oh,  Charlie !  and  after  what  I  did !" 

"There,  don't  cry,  child.  There,  my  girl,  we  shall  let  by- 
gones be  bygones,  and  start  afresh." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

MAN  PROPOSES. 

Along  a  northward-bound  line,  weighted  with  living 
freight,  a  noble  engine  dashed  its  panting  way.  In  the  win- 
dow-corner of  his  well-cushioned  carriage  sat  Lewis  Kerr, 
watching,  as  they  flew  past  him,  the  tinted  hedgerows,  the 
beautiful  homesteads,  the  wide  stretches  of  pasture,  the  busy 
towns. 

Once  he  drew  from  his  pocketbook  the  charm  that  had 
removed  the  evil  spell — a  letter,  the  cover  of  which  was  ad- 
dressed in  goodly  round  style  to  Lewis  Kerr  of  Gilham,  Es- 
quire, and  the  contents  of  which  he  had  already  so  studied 
as  to  know  them  almost  by  heart. 

The  letter  was  dated  some  five  days  back  at  midnight,  and 
thus  had  Fargus  written  to  his  son  at  the  close  of  that  event- 
ful day  which  had  seen  the  final  crumbling  of  Charles  Hill- 
yard's  scheme  and  the  rise  of  Hilda  Wren's  new  hopes : 

"My  dear  Lewis  :  Your  letter  would  have  been  a  very  griev- 
ous trouble  to  me,  were  I  not  happily  able  (owing  to  a  con- 
catenation of  circumstances  which  will  seem  to  you  the  most 
extraordinary,  the  most  unforseeable)  to  give  you  that  very 
proof  without  which  you  now  propose  to  abandon  fortune 
and  happiness.    I  can  prove  to  you,  and  beyond  all  doubt, 


228  Man  Proposes. 

that  you  are  George  Kerr's  son,  and  that  as  such  you  have  the 
most  indisputable  right  to  his  name  and  the  property  that 
would  have  been  his. 

"Something  very  inopportune  has  occurred  which  must 
retard  your  arrival.  Miss  Wren,  poor  girl  I  in  great  and 
natural  anxiety  concerning  her  lover,  landed  here  to-day,  to 
seek  some  information  concerning  his  movements.  She  was 
still  here  when,  as  fate  would  have  it,  Mr.  Hillyard  him- 
self made  his  appearance — on  what  errand  I  imagine  you  can 
guess;  then  he  had  the  misfortune  to  wound  her  seriously 
while  incautiously  playing  with  one  of  my  revolvers.  It  was 
purely  accidental,  and  he  has  shown  more  feeling  for  her  than 
I  could  have  believed  possible.  Meanwhile,  however,  she  will 
not  be  fit  to  move  for  a  day  or  two,  and  as  he  is  constantly 
with  her  you  will  understand  why  I  think  it  better  to  post- 
pone your  visit.  These  are  strange  things  to  happen  in  my 
quiet  house,  are  they  not?  One  thing  is  certain,  namely, 
that  your  cousin  has  finally  abandoned  all  idea  of  contest- 
ing your  rights  any  further,  though  I  should  be  conveying  a 
false  impression  were  I  to  allow  you  to  believe  that  he  is  any- 
thing but  furious  at  the  turn  affairs  have  taken.  Now,  my 
dear  boy,  it  is  very  late  and  I  am  very  tired  after  an  exciting 
day.  Keep  a  good  heart  till  we  meet.  I  shall  telegraph  as 
soon  as  the  coast  is  clear,  and  then  you  will  come  at  once, 
will  you  not?  I  have  satisfactory  news  for  you  on  other 
scores  besides  that  one  vital  question. 

"General  Woldham  and  I  have  had  long  gossips  about  you. 
He  really  loves  you  like  a  son.    Charles  Hillyard  seems  to 
have  kept  his  evil  counsel  to  himself  very  closely,  after  all. 
So  much  the  better  for  all  parties ;  more  I  cannot  say  now, 
"Ever  yours, 

**David  Fargus." 

When  Lewis  reached  the  end,  he  replaced  the  letter  in  the 
case  and  musingly  drew  out  the  telegram  that  had  reached 
him  the  previous  night  up  in  his  attic  rooms.  It  contained 
but  the  most  laconic  message:  "From  David  Fargus,  Widley 
Grange,  to  Lewis  Kerr,  Staple  Inn,  London.  Come."  Noth- 
ing more,  but  the  four  letters  of  that  little  word  seemed  to 
flash  out  of  the  pink  paper.  It  seemed  to  mean  so  much. 
Ah  I  the  world  was  a  glad  and  good  place;  it  was  well  to  be 
alive  and  young. 

Lewis  greeted  them  all  as  old  friends.  He  was  not  recog^ 
nized  at  first;  it  was  so  many  years  since  he  had  been  there; 
but  the  porter,  having  put  his  single  eye  to  good  purpose, 
soon  discovered  the  identity  of  the  only  passenger  the  train 
had  left  to  them  from  the  label  on  his  portmanteau.    An  ez" 


r 


Man  Proposes.  229 

cited  whisper  went  round  the  little  station:  "'Tis  young 
squire  himself  I" 

"We  did  not  think  you'd  take  us  unawares  like  that,  sir," 
said  the  station-master,  coming  up  and  touching  his  cap  with 
a  new  deference.  "Folks  have  been  talking  of  getting  up  a 
welcome  for  you.  But  we're  right  glad  to  see  you  here  at 
last,  sir,  all  the  same." 

Lewis  laughed  as  he  responded  suitably.  But,  in  his  heart, 
the  little  tribute  to  his  position,  and  especially  the  unques- 
tioning way  it  seemed  to  have  been  accepted,  was  pleasant 
to  him. 

It  was  now  only  three  of  the  afternoon,  on  a  mellow,  sunny, 
brisk-breathing  day,  and  the  thought  of  a  walk  along  the 
country  roads  was  inviting  after  an  eight  hours'  railway 
journey,  and  so  Mr.  Kerr  of  Gilham,  announcing  his  deter- 
mination to  make  use  of  his  legs,  engaged  the  flyman  with 
his  ramshackle  vehicle  to  convey  his  luggage  to  the  Lone 
Grange,  and  set  off  at  a  swinging  pace. 

And  now  a  turn  of  the  road  brought  him  upon  one  of  the 
avenues  leading  to  Gilham  itself,  and  in  the  undulations  of 
the  park  he  saw  the  herded  deer;  saw  the  noble,  ancient 
house  between  the  trees.  He  stood  and  gazed,  and  his  heart 
swelled  with  a  feeling  he  had  never  before  experienced — the 
pride  of  possession.  "Mine — mine — mine!"  he  could  say  of 
each  rich  acre  that  he  had  been  traversing,  each  living  thing 
that  met  his  glance,  each  stone  of  the  home  his  forefathers' 
hands  had  raised. 

A  quaint  idea  crossed  his  brain.  "I  feel,"  he  thought, 
"like  the  Marquis  of  Carabas — the  ogre  is  dead,  and  his  lands 
are  mine.  And  presently  I  shall  lead  the  princess  home ;  and 
the  good  friend  through  whom  all  these  good  things  have 
come  to  pass" — here  he  laughed  in  the  lightness  of  his  heart 
at  the  comparison  of  grave  Fargus  to  Puss  in  the  fairy  tale — 
"the  dear  friend  shall  come  and  share  them,  and  be  honored 
by  us  and  our  children." 

Presently,  as  he  walked  on,  the  sound  of  voices  struck  upon 
his  ear,  then  the  impetuous  barking  of  several  dogs,  and 
upon  this  a  dachshund  and  two  brown  spaniels  tore  out 
of  the  underwoods  toward  him  with  a  great  appearance  of 
ferocious  resentment,  which,  however,  soon  subsided  into  ab- 
ject amiability  of  recognition  when  they  came  close  enough. 
Next,  well-known  tones  were  heard,  freely  damning  the  noisy 
rovers  with  the  same  well-known  emphasis,  and  the  spare 
figure  of  the  general  himself  emerged  upon  the  path  a  little 
higher  up.  He  stood  with  a  sedate  black  retriever  beside 
him.    The  keeper,  a  picturesque  iigure  in  far  better  clothea 


230  Man  Proposes. 

than  the  master,  remaining  respectfully  distant  among  the 
brush-wood. 

Lewis  sprang  forward,  and  the  next  minute  the  old  man 
had  seized  him  by  both  hands  with  a  cry  of  delighted  recog- 
nition. 

"Lewis,  my  boy,  glad  to  see  you  again  I  Hang  you,  where 
have  you  been  all  this  while  ?" 

There  was  a  hurried  interchange  of  greeting  and  explana- 
tion, and  presently,  the  first  emotion  having  subsided,  the 
general  linked  his  arm  affectionately  through  that  of  the 
young  man,  dismissed  the  attendant  keeper  with,  a  pleasant 
nod  over  his  shoulder,  and  carried  his  visitor  onward  along 
the  path. 

"Gad!  I  knew  you  at  once,  in  spite  of  that  scar  on  your 
face.  And,  by  the  way,  tell  us  about  it.  How  was  it  we 
never  heard  you  were  wounded  ?" 

Then,  wheeling  his  companion  round  again,  and  halting, 
the  old  man  looked  into  his  embarrassed  countenance  with  a 
suppressed  enjoyment  of  his  own  great  joke.  In  another  in- 
stant he  had  exploded,  and  was  slapping  Lewis  on  the  shoul- 
der. 

"Why,  I  know  all  about  it.  Confound  you,  sir!  so  you've 
killed  your  man  already,  and  pocketed  this  pretty  little  token 
to  improve  your  beauty,  have  you?  And  what  do  you  think 
the  ladies  will  say  to  that  face  of  yours,  sir?" — this  with  an 
elaborate  wink.  "I  believe  some  will  like  you  all  the  better 
for  it.  When  did  you  come?  You  are  stopping  at  Fargus', 
are  you  not?  Capital  fellow  that!  And  you  were  on  your 
way  to  pay  us  a  dutiful  visit,  I  assume?" 

"Why,  no.  General.  I  have  only  just  arrived  from  town, 
and  was  finding  my  way  to  the  Grange  by  the  short  cut.  I 
thought  you  would  condone  the  trespass." 

"Why,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  condone  it,"  quoth  the 
veteran.  "You  are  a  great  man  in  these  parts,  and  you  will 
soon  grow  accustomed  to  lording  it  about  here."  This  idea 
tickled  the  general  afresh.  "So  you  have  only  just  arrived. 
There  will  be  news  here  for  you.  Fine  goings  on  there  have 
been  at  the  Lone  Grange  with  that  scamp  of  a  cousin  of 
yours.    You  must  have  heard  something  of  It,  I  expect." 

"I  heard  of  the  accident,  sir,  if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
answered  Lewis,  whose  heart  began  to  beat  faster. 

"Aha!  the  accident?  You  do  know  then.  Well,  what  do 
you  think  of  your  precious  cousin,  my  boy?  You  used  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  sort  of  little  God  Almighty.  What  do 
you  think  of  him  now,  eh?  Scamp!  With  his  air  of  wise 
superiority,  taking  us  all  in;  coming  among  us  to  lay  down 
the  law,  knowing  better  than  anybody.    Gad!    A  humbug, 


Man  Proposes,  231 

that  is  what  he  is — ^married  in  secret  to  some  poor  disrepu- 
table creature  and  leaving  her  to  starve — starve,  people  tell 
me — while  he  comes  here  among  us  with  his  wisdom.  It 
makes  me  sick  I" 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of  the  amaze- 
ment depicted  on  Lewis'  countenance  as  he  stopped  during 
this  tirade,  and  ejaculated  under  his  voice : 

"Charles  married ! — are  you  sure.  General  ?    Married  ?" 

"Yes,  my  boy,  married.  No  mistake  about  it,  Lewis.  Old 
Smith  told  me  in  detail.  Old  story,  you  know — low  mar- 
riage; gets  tired  of  her;  wants  to  drop  her.  The  poor  woman 
is  miserable;  comes  after  him  here;  finds  out  he's  at  the 
Grange,  and  follows  him  there.  Frightful  scene  between 
them;  and  the  upshot  of  it  all  is  she  is  shot.  An  'accident,' 
they  give  out ;  but.  Lord !  I  dare  say  he  was  in  such  a  rage  at 
being  found  out  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  doing.  It  is 
hard  to  get  at  the  truth.  Anyhow,  he  went  to  fetch  Smith 
for  her  himself,  and  seemed  quite  in  a  way  about  her.  Smith 
says.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Fargus,  as  Smith  told  me,  she 
would  have  bled  to  death  in  ten  minutes.  That  is  a  pretty 
thing  to  happen  in  a  fellovr's  house,  is  it  not?  LucIq^  for 
Hillyard  he  had  to  do  with  such  a  man  as  Fargus!  The 
colonel  would  not  tell  even  me  anything  about  the  occur- 
rence. 'Whole  affair  accidental,'  says  he,  when  I  rode  over 
to  see  him  and  asked  him  for  the  rights  of  the  story.  But  I 
honor  him  for  it,  Lewis.  What  was  it  you  heard,  may  I 
ask,  since  you  knew  there  had  been  an  accident?" 

Lewis  roused  himself  to  answer  with  great  caution : 

"I  know  no  more  than  you  do,  sir.  My  only  informant 
was  Colonel  Fargus,  who  wrote  to  beg  me  to  put  off  my  visit 
on  account  of  an  accident  which  had  occurred  to  a  visitor 
of  his." 

"Well,  Smith  told  me  a  good  deal,"  said  General  Woldham. 
There  is  no  raistake  about  the  marriage,  for  Hillyard  himself 
informed  me  he  was  married.  Ay,  for  I  met  him  and  asked 
him.  And  there  is  no  mistalie  about  her  status  either,  for, 
according  to  Smith,  she  spoke  broad  Cockney,  and  scattered 
her  h's  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  Fine,  handsome  woman. 
Smith  says;  and  then  what  do  you  think  he  added — ^'most 
extraordinary  resemblance  to  Miss  Woldham,'  he  said.  But 
he  stuck  to  his  point,  damned  little  pill-box !" 

Lewis  made  no  answer,  and  for  a  while  they  meditatively 
progi'essed  together. 

"Here  I  must  leave  you  for  the  present,  I  fear,  sir,"  said 
he;  but  the  general's  thin  old  hand  held  him  tightly  by  the 
arm. 


^32  Man  Proposes. 

"No,  no,  my  boy!  Come  and  pay  your  respects  to  Maude 
first,  and  take  a  cup  of  tea.    She  will  be  delighted  to  see  you," 

Lewis  threw  an  anxious  glance  at  the  kind,  wrinkled  face, 
with  its  meaning  smile. 

"I  wish  I  could  think  it  would  be  a  pleasant  surprise  for 
her,"  he  said  at  last,  almost  bitterly. 

"Hullo,  hullo!"  cried  the  general.  "Why,  you  \ised  not 
to  think  so  humbly  of  yourself,  or  be  so  shy  of  your  old " 

On  the  point  of  saying  "sweetheart,"  the  old  man  checked 
himself  to  substitute  "playfellow." 

With  head  half  turned  away,  Lewis  fell  to  decapitating 
undergrowth  twigs  with  flips  from  his  stick.  The  general 
went  on  in  puzzled  and  slightly  exasperated  tones: 

"Of  course,  you  know  your  own  business  best;  but  I  must 
say,  Lewis,  if  it  comes  to  a  question  of  being  pleased  to  see 
you,  you  have  not  seemed  over-anxious  to  give  us  a  chance. 
Why,  I  made  up  my  mind  you  would  run  down  here  first  of 
all.  But  instead  of  coming  to  us,  or  coming  to  show  your- 
self on  your  property,  you  fly  off  to  Germany,  and  never 
even  seem  to  think  of  taking  train  to  pay  a  visit  to  Maude, 
who  is  within  a  few  hours  of  you.  And  then  you  tell  me  you 
think  she  may  not  want  to  see  you.  It  is  all  a  blanked  rid- 
dle to  me." 

Lewis  wheeled  round  and  confronted  the  speaker. 

"Didn't  Maude  tell  you  then?"  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  did  go  to  Homburg.  I  did  see  her,  sir.  And  I  made  a  fool 
of  myself." 

The  General's  eyes  grew  round  and  his  face  grew  red. 

"You  saw  Maude!  You  went  after  her  to  Homburg — I 
was  right,  then.  And  she  sent  you  about  your  business? 
Why  the  dickens  did  she  do  that?" 

"I  cannot  say,  sir,"  said  Lewis,  with  extreme  simplicity. 
"It  has  come  pretty  hard  on  me,  I  assure  you." 

The  old  man  marked  how  Lewis'  lip  trembled  as  he  spoke. 

"Oh,  tut,  tut,  tut!  She  did  not  mean  it.  Why,  I  pro- 
posed to  her  mother  four  times  before  she  would  have  me, 
and,  what  is  more,  I  would  have  gone  on  till  I  had  got  her. 
And  Maude  is  just  such  another  as  she  was.  They  never 
know  their  own  minds.  They  like  you,  but  they  don't  like 
the  thought  of  harness.  They  are  coy.  Why,  the  sly  puss, 
she  never  told  her  old  dad  a  word  about  it,  though  she  did 
hang  her  head  a  bit,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it.  I  fancied 
she  was  not  quite  herseK.  I  thought  it  was  because  you  had 
not  come  near  us.  I  gave  her  a  hint  or  two,  the  other  day, 
that  we  might  be  expecting  a  new  neighbor  to  visit  us — about 
a  fellow  who  had  been  in  the  wars,  and  was  going  to  settle 


Man  Proposes.  233 

hereabouts,  and  she  has  brightened  up  uncommonly  ever 
since." 

Lewis  grew  crimson  and  white  again  in  rapid  succession. 

"My  God !"  he  murmured,  "if  I  could  only  believe  it !" 

The  general  watched  him  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  and 
fell  to  chuckling,  in  a  delighted  state  of  excitement. 

"Believe  it?  Come  and  see  for  yourself,  my  boy.  Come 
and  see  for  yourself !" 

The  father's  confidence  was  infectious.  A  fire  of  joy 
coursed  through  his  frame.  With  transfigured  countenance 
he  turned  toward  his  companion,  and  seized  his  hand. 

"Then  I  have  your  permission,  sir ;  you  yourself  encourage 
my  hope." 

"I  don't  say  I  think  any  man  alive  equal  to  my  girl;  but 
there  is  no  one  I  would  trust  her  to  sooner  than  you,  Lewis. 
You  will  settle  down  on  your  place,  as  you  ought  to.  I  am 
afraid,"  said  the  general,  smiling,  "I  should  not  be  quite  so 
ready  to  hand  her  over  to  you  if  I  thought  you  meant  to 
carry  her  off.  I  care  little  for  the  mere  fact  of  your  being 
so  rich.  I  want  a  good  fellow,  of  good  blood,  that  will  make 
my  girl  a  good  husband.  I  am  none  the  less  pleased  she 
should  make  the  match  of  the  county — eh,  my  boy  ?" 

A  flickering  shadow  had  descended  upon  the  ecstasy  of 
Lewis'  face  as  he  listened. 

"Before  we  go  any  further,"  he  said,  quickly,  "there  is 
something  I  must  tell  you  which  I  had  well-nigh  forgotten. 
Something  which  may  be  the  explanation  of  Maude's  rejec- 
tion of  me  at  Homburg." 

"Well,  out  with  it,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  keenly  at 
Lewis. 

"The  fact  is,  my  cousin  Hillyard  has  been  getting  up  a 
scheme  against  me — a  scheme  to  dispossess  me  of  my  imcle's 
property,  on  the  score  of  alleged  illegitimacy  on  my  side." 

Lewis  spoke  with  determined  clearness;  the  trouble  had 
gone  too  deep  not  to  leave  him  very  sore  still. 

"The  devil  he  did!"  cried  General  Woldham.  "Wanted  to 
make  out  you  were  not  a  Kerr,  did  he  ?  Scamp !  Why,  my 
lad,  I'd  know  you  for  one  of  the  family  in  a  thousand.  You 
are  as  like  the  squire — ^your  grandfather,  that  is — as  two  peas. 
And  I  knew  him  well.  You  not  a  Kerr!"  snorted  the  gen- 
eral, working  himself  up.  "No,  your  worthy  cousin  did  not 
tell  me  that— he  knew  better  than  to  tell  me  that.  What 
did  he  go  on  to  support  such  a  suggestion  ?" 

"Thank  God,"  said  Lewis  very  low,  "the  dastardly  scheme 
has  collapsed  from  the  very  outset.  And  yet  it  was  wdl 
worked  out — some  old  letters  of  my  father's  and  my  Spanish 
mother's,  coupled  with  the  sad  story  of  my  father's  death. 


234  God  Disposes. 

the  fact  of  my  having  been  born  abroad,  and  the  squire's 
refusal  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me,  were  pieced  together 
into  such  a  damning  array  of  circumstantial  evidence  against 
me  that,  at  one  time,  only  a  few  days  ago,  I  was  almost 
ready  to  believe  myself  an  interloper,  and  to  go  back  to 
India,  never  to  show  my  face  again  in  the  old  country. 
Thank  God,  it  was  not  true,  and  the  scheme  has  fallen 
through!  Colonel  Fargus — oh,  sir,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
him  I  hardly  know  what  I  should  have  dune  these  times! 
has  written  to  me  to  say  that  he  has  secured  the  actual 
proof  of  the  slander;  that  he  has  seen  Charles,  who  is  com- 
pletely convinced  himself,  and  who  has  abandoned  his  claim. 
I  do  not  know  what  the  proofs  are  yet.  The  colonel  has  done 
everything  for  me.  I  believe  it  was  the  late  squire,  on  his 
death-bed,  who  set  all  this  mischief  working," 

"Just  like  the  cantakerous  old  numskull,"  muttered  the 
general.  "He  hated  your  father — quarreled  with  him,  turned 
him  out  of  the  house.  I  well  remember  hearing  about  it  all 
from  my  poor  old  aunt,  who  had  this  place  at  the  time. 
And  he  hated  you  simply  because  you  are  his  son.  But 
that  your  own  cousin,  a  man  who  was  your  friend,  should 
lend  himself  to  such  a  thing!  And  so  you  thought  Maude 
had  heard  something,  did  you  ?  No,  my  lad ;  you  may  think 
yourself  very  much  in  love,  but  you  don't  know  my  girl 
if  you  fancy  she  would  lend  an  ear  to  such  a  thing  as  that. 
Bless  me!  I  don't  pretend  to  know  why  she  would  not  say 
'yes'  then,  but  I  lay  my  oath  that  was  not  the  reason.  And 
now  come  and  find  out  for  yourself,  as  I  said  before." 

Lewis'  pulses  beat  thickly  at  the  prospect  which  seemed 
to  grow  nearer  and  more  assured  every  instant. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  see  those  proofs  Colonel  Fargus  has 
for  me  first,  sir,"  he  said,  as  quietly  as  he  could. 

"Damn  the  boy!"  cried  the  general.  "I  was  not  such  a 
hang-off,  punctilious  sort  of  lover  as  all  that.  Your  nose 
alone,  sir,  is  proof  sufficient  for  me.  Come  along;  give  me 
your  arm  again.  Maudy  will  be  on  the  look-out  for  her 
dad.  Begad !  she  little  guesses  the  visitor  T  am  bringing  by 
the  ear  to  see  her !" 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

GOD  DISPOSES. 

"So  Fargus  has  helped  you  along,  has  he?  Thorough  good 
fellow  that — never  was  a  man  I  liked  more;  couldn't  have 
a  better  friend,  Lewis !  But  why  did  you  never  come  to  me, 
my  boy?    I  would  have  settled  that  Hillyard  chap  in  ten 


God  Disposes,  335 

minutes.  'Confound  your  letters  and  your  trumpery  evi- 
dence, sir!'  I  would  have  said  to  him.  'You  tell  me  Lewis 
is  from  the  wrong  side,  do  you  ?  Very  well ;  stand  him  before 
his  grandfather's  picture,  the  Peninsular  man;  then  come 
and  repeat  that  to  me,  sir.'  I  should  have  liked  to  see  him 
then,  my  boy.  Whole  thing  would  have  burst  like  an  air- 
bubble. 

"So  Mr.  Hillyard  wanted  to  oust  you,  did  he,  and  set 
up  that  low  wife  of  his  as  mistress  of  Gilham,  I  suppose? 
Upon  my  word,  he  has  turned  out  well!  I  met  him  the  day 
before  yesterday,  just  as  I  was  coming  away  from  Fargus. 
Very  down  he  looked,  too,  and  not  over-pleased  to  see  me. 
'Funny  stories  these  are  about  you,  Charlie,'  said  I.  *We 
hear  you  have  married  a  wife.'  He  made  no  answer,  but 
gave  a  queer  kind  of  smile.  But  I  was  not  to  be  put  off 
in  that  way.  So  I  asked  him  point-blank  if  it  was  true  it 
was  his  wife  that  was  hurt.  'Was  that  what  you  heard?' 
he  answered  me;  'that  is  true,  anyhow.'  So  then  I  whipped 
up  my  horse  and  rode  off,  giving  him  the  'Good-afternoon' 
pretty  shortly.  He  called  after  me,  'Good-by,  general;  it 
will  be  a  long  time  before  you  see  me  in  this  part  of  the 
world  again.'  And  yesterday,  I  hear,  he  and  his  wife  went 
off  together  to  London.  As  for  the  Hall,  he  certainly  shall 
never  cross  my  doors  again.  But  you  are  not  listening  to 
me,  man.  Oh,  bless  you,  you  need  not  apologize!  I  have 
been  young  myself  once;  and  in  love,  too,  more  than  once. 
I  know  all  about  it.  And  here  we  are.  We  shall  find  her 
ladyship  in  the  library,  I  dare  say." 

As  they  approached  the  open  door  of  the  old  house,  Lewis 
found  it  indeed  increasingly  difficult  to  follow  any  thought 
but  the  central  one  of  Maude.  It  was  too  late  now  to  pause 
and  examine  the  wisdom  of  this  hurried  visit,  nor  could  he 
collect  his  tumultuous  senses  to  settle  with  himself  what  he 
would  say  to  her.  He  was  carried  away,  unable  to  resist 
the  current  of  his  companion's  slapdash  geniality;  the  past 
was  all  a  mistake;  he  was  going  to  see  her  again — Maude, 
his  own  Maude,  at  last ! 

He  was  stumbling  across  the  threshold,  when  the  general 
checked  him  sharply  by  the  arm. 

"One  moment,  Lewis,"  he  whispered.  "Don't  you  mention 
that  fellow  Charlie's  name  to  Maudy.  You  are  hardly  likely 
to.  She  was  terribly  fond  of  his  mother,  and  I  think  she 
liked  him,  too,  in  a  way.  And  when  she  heard  of  the  scamp 
having  made  a  match  like  that,  it  quite  upset  her.  She 
would  not  believe  it  at  first;  and  then  I  never  saw  a  girl 
look  so  angry.    She  turned  quite  white,  and  could  hardly 


a36  God  Disposes. 

epeak  for  a  bit.  I  suppose  Smith  could  not  keep  quiet  about 
his  story  of  the  woman's  likeness." 

"Of  course — I  know,"  he  answered  mechanically,  while  his 
eyes  wandered  around  the  great,  dark  hall  with  eager  yet 
almost  fearful  seeking. 

"She  must  be  out,"  said  the  good  man,  with  a  cheerful 
philosophy.  "Come  and  have  a  pipe  in  the  smoking-room. 
She  is  svire  to  come  in  to  give  me  my  tea  in  a  little  while." 

As  he  spoke  he  marshaled  his  visitor  through  the  stately 
library,  where  the  tea  paraphernalia  were  already  arrayed, 
to  his  particular  and  beloved  sanctum  at  the  end  of  it.  Here 
he  provided  himself  with  a  pipe,  and  scoffed  good-humoredly 
at  the  absent  fashion  in  which  Lewis  took  the  implement 
proffered  him,  only  to  lay  it  down  unfilled  on  the  table.  In 
unconscious,  silent  reverie,  the  young  man  was  gazing  around 
the  comfortable,  untidy  room  that  was  so  full  of  memories 
for  him,  when  Maude  used  to  come  and  listen  to  their  talk, 
between  the  smile  of  her  father  and  the  silent  adoration  of 
his  guest. 

"Well,  you  are  a  sociable  fellow!"  he  was  beginning  in  a 
bantering  tone,  turning  once  more  to  Lewis,  when  a  change 
on  the  latter's  absent  face,  as  he  intently  gazed  out  of  the 
window,  hushed  the  speaker  to  silence.  Maude  was  passing 
slowly  across  the  terrace  toward  the  house,  her  special  canine 
attendant  following  her  with  solemn  step.  She  glided  noise- 
lessly on  the  soft  turf  past  the  window,  with  beautiful  bent 
head,  unconscious  of  observation,  and  apparently  mindful 
only  of  the  world  of  her  own  thoughts. 

While  she  approached  and  until  she  disappeared,  there 
was  silence  in  the  room.  The  old  man  looked  alternately 
at  the  graceful  figure  that  seemed  as  if  floating  by  in  the 
sunlight — a  vision  of  youthful  perfection — ^to  the  watchful, 
almost  ecstatic  face  of  his  companion,  who  had  risen  to  his 
feet  and  stood  gazing  at  it,  with  all  his  soul  in  his  eyes, 
as  if  completely  forgetful  of  his  surroundings. 

When  she  had  passed  out  of  sight  the  two  men  looked  at 
each  other. 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Lewis,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "if  these  should 
be  false  hopes  after  all!" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  ejaculated  the  other.  "Lewis,  I  know 
what  I  am  talking  about ;  I  am  not  a  child  or  a  fool.  Hush !" 
putting  his  finger  to  his  lips  as  a  light  footfall  sounded  from 
without,  "Tell  you  what,  by  boy,"  struck  by  a  brilliant  idea, 
and  burning  to  assist  in  the  bringing  together  of  the  young 
couple  he  held  in  such  affection,  a  delicate  task  he  consid- 
ered especially  suited  to  his  great  diplomatic  capacity;  "tell 
you  what,  man,  I'll  go  and  prepare  the  way  for  you  a  bit, 


God  Disposes.  337 

eh  ?"  chuckling  and  winking  in  irrepressible  glee.  "You  stop 
here,  you  know,  eh?"        , 

The  further  door  of  the  library  creaked  on  its  hinges,  and 
the  slow  rustle  of  Maude's  gown  came  in  upon  them  through 
the  parted  curtains;  then  the  sound  of  her  voice  calling: 

"Dad— tea!" 

"Coming,"  grunted  the  general,  pushing  the  bewildered 
Lewis  aside,  after  further  bestowing  upon  him  sundry 
highly-expressive  winks  and  admonition,  and  trotting  briskly 
off  in  a  convulsion  of  subdued  chuckles. 

"Well,  dad,  have  you  been  in  long?"  came  the  dear,  tender 
voice;  then  the  general's  reply,  in  laboriously  natural  tones; 
then  the  rattle  of  teacups,  and  a  silence. 

Like  one  in  a  dream  who  can  comprehend,  enjoy  and  suf- 
fer, but  is  powerless  either  to  suggest  or  control,  Lewis  stood 
motionless,  where  he  had  been  placed,  all  his  faculties 
wrapped  in  what  was  now  almost  an  agony  of  listening. 
With  all  the  glowing  reality  of  second-sight  the  scene  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall  rose  before  his  mind. 

"Why,  papa,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 

A  ripple  of  laughter  tripped  up  and  shook  the  witching 
voice  as  it  again  broke  the  silence.  Lewis  remembered  how 
she  used  to  look  when  she  laughed. 

"What  makes  you  think  there  is  anything  the  matter  with 
me,  eh,  you  puss  ?" 

Interval  of  snorts  and  renewal  of  laughter. 

"Dad,  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  deceive  me.  You  have 
been  up  to  something,  I  know.  There  is  the  stamp  of  guilt 
on  your  face.  Confess,  dad,  confess!  You  will  be  happier, 
and  be  able  to  enjoy  your  tea  when  it  is  off  your  mind." 

"Pooh,  pooh!  nonsense,  child!"  with  a  suspicion  of  tart- 
ness.   "Don't  know  what  you  mean,"  with  some  solemnity. 

"Yes,  dad." 

A  sudden  cessation  of  laughter. 

"I  met  a  friend  of  ours  to-day,  my  pet — ^an  old  friend,  I 
think  I  may  call  him,  though  he  is  a  new  neighbor." 

"Yes,  dad." 

A  change,  a  slightly  tremulous  tone  in  the  voice,  now 
suddenly  become  grave. 

"We  had  a  long  walk,  child.  I  met  him  in  the  pine-woods, 
the  short  cut  to  the  Grange,  you  know.  Tell  you  the  truth, 
I  have  been  expecting  him  this  last  week,  but  all  this  row — 
Charlie  Hillyard's  business,  and  all  the  rest — ^kept  him 
away." 

"Yes,  dad;  I,  too,  wondered  why  he  did  not  come." 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  a  slight  hesitation,  and 
in  a  perceptibly  lower  key. 


338  God  Disposes. 

"Oh,  you  were  expecting  him,  were  you,  eh  ?  The  old  man 
is  to  be  kept  in  the  dark,  eh  ?  Never  to  know  what  is  going 
on  under  his  nose,  eh?  There,  there,  never  look  so  scared, 
my  pet ;  I  am  only  joking.  Fact  jis,  this  new  neighbor  of 
ours  has  been  confiding  in  your  old  dad.  Queer,  outlandish 
sort  of  thing  to  do;  but  the  fellow,  as  you  know,  is  full  of 
old-fashioned  notions  of  honor  and  loyalty  and  the  like. 
Can't  say  I  think  the  worse  of  him  for  that.  I  must  let  him 
speak  for  himself,  must  not  I?  The  young  birds  must  fly 
out  of  the  nest  some  day,  and  in  this  case  it  will  not  be 
very  far." 

The  old  voice  quavered  a  little.  There  was  a  smothered 
exclamation.  Lewis  knew  the  warm  young  arms  were  round 
the  father's  neck,  and  that  the  beautiful  head  was  lying  on 
his  shoulder.  And  the  young  man's  heart  beat  so  quickly, 
so  loudly,  that  he  feared,  clenching  his  hands,  it  might  drown 
the  soft  tones  he  was  straining  every  nerve  to  catch. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  general,  "as  I  told  him,  I  do  not 
so  much  disapprove.  There  you  come  back  from  your  for- 
eign trip  as  demure  and  close  as  a  nun,  and  know  your 
poor  old  father  is  racking  his  brains  over  the  fellow's  ex- 
traordinary prcoeedings.  Oh,  oh!  that  is  a  tell-tale  blush! 
Yes,  I  have  heard  all  about  it;  he  went  after  you,  but  there 
was  some  little  mistake,  eh?  He  is  a  good  fellow,  Maude. 
He  has  promised  to  remain  dovsna  here,  and  not  carry  you 
away  from  me.  And  as  for  that  ugly  scar — though  we  can- 
not say  he  got  it  in  regular  warfare;  though  I  cannot  pre- 
tend it  is  becoming — I  )am  sure  you  would  not  have  him 
without  it  for  the  world  now,  eh  ?  .  .  .  What !  won't  you 
speak,  my  child?  Ah,  well,  if  your  mother  had  been  alive 
you  would  have  told  her  all,  I'll  be  bound." 

"Oh,  darling!"  said  Maude,  in  low,  caressing  tones,  "do 
not  say  that — I  will  tell  you  all.  Indeed,  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  my  love  for  him,  now  that  I  know  he  loves  me,  too ;  I  am 
proud  of  it — ^more  proud,  more  blessed  than  ever  woman 
was !  Darling,  forgive  me ;  I  could  not  tell  you  before.  You 
see,  I  did  not  know;  I  only  thought — feared — hoped.  He 
never  spoke  a  •vvord  of  love  to  me — I  thought  he  always 
treated  me  like  a  child — ^but  from  the  first  moment  I  saw 
him  I  knew  I  should  never  care  for  another  man.  Don't 
look  so  surprised,  dad.  From  the  first  you  said  he  was  a 
man  after  your  own  heart.  But  I  never  dared  to  think  he 
loved  me,  though  at  times  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes,  when 
he  turn^i  them  on  me,  that  would  set  me  fancying  and 
wondering.  And  then,  about  Homburg.  Yes,  I  will  tell  you 
the  truth ;  a  thought  did  flash  through  my  mind  when  I  saw 
him  there — 'Has  he  come  for  me?'    But  then — ^then — ^then  I 


God  Disposes.  ^39 

only  saw  him  once,  for  a  second,  the  night  he  came ;  the  day 
after  he  was  gone.  Dear  dad,  do  you  wonder  I  did  not 
speak  of  it?  But  now  I  think  I  know  what  it  meant. 
There  was  a  mistake,  as  you  said.  He  must  have  seen  me 
next  morning  with  some  one  else — early  in  the  morning, 
among  the  trees.  It  was  Lewis;  he  had  followed  me  from 
the  hotel.  Poor  Lewis!  it  seems  he  had  come  all  the  way 
after  me,  too.  I  could  not  tell  you  that,  either;  it  was  not 
my  secret,  you  see.  But  now  that  he  has  spoken  to  you,  that 
you  have  assured  him  there  was  nothing  in  that  silly  boy 
and  girl  affair " 

"Why — what  the  dickens!"  interrupted  the  general.  "He 
— him!  Who's  he?  Told  you  what?  What  boy  and  girl 
affair?    What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Father,  how  strange  you  are!  Did  you  not  tell  Colonel 
Fargus?" 

"Fargus!"  with  a  shout  of  astonishment  and  despair; 
"what  the  devil  should  I  tell  Fargus  anything  about  it  for?" 

A  moment's  dead  silence.  Then — could  that  unknown, 
hard,  fierce  voice  be  Maude's? 

"Who,  then,  have  you  been  talking  about  all  this  time?" 

"Why,  who  should  I  have  been  talking  about  ?  Lewis,  of 
course.  What!  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  thought  it  was 
Fargus  ?     Oh,  damn  it  all !"  in  a  sudden  frightened  whisper. 

Then  Maude,  speaking  again  in  the  same  strange  accents: 

"So  Lewis  is  not  content  with  what  I  told  him.  I  told 
him  plainly  enough  I  never  could  love  him  now." 

"Hush!  hush!"  in  the  father's  tremulous  undertone.  "It 
is  my  mistake.  Maude,  come  to  me — don't  look  like  that, 
child.  Oh,  Lord!  what  have  I  done?  There,  my  darling! 
there,  my  darling!  It  will  come  all  right.  Eh!  what,  child 
— are  you  angry  with  me  ?     What  is  it  ?     Oh,  Lord !" 

"Don't  try  your  hand  at  match-making  any  more,  dad," 
with  a  quivering  attempt  at  lightness.  Then  there  was  a 
sharp  sound,  as  if  she  smote  her  hands  together,  and  a  sud- 
den, low  cry,  as  if  of  pain.    "Oh,  father !  father !  father !" 

"Maude — my  poor  girl!" 

A  low  sob,  strangled,  and  the  old  man's  voice  raised  in 
incoherent,  soothing  terms,  and  muffled  as  if  his  head  were 
enveloped  in  something  soft  and  close. 

"My  dream  is  gone.    I  don't  want  to  leave  you  ever." 


When  the  general — ^limp,  tottering,  the  very  shadow  of 
the  cheerful,  vigorous,  self-sufficient  general  of  an  hour  be- 
fore— crept  at  length  around  the  smoking-room  ciirtain  once 
more,  it  was  to  find  that  Lewis  was  gone. 


CHAPTEK  XXVI. 

DEADLOCK. 

The  window  of  the  guest-chamber  at  Widley  Grange  was 
open  to  the  fragrant  breeze  of  the  moor,  and  through  it  the 
wild  hollyhocks  peeped  in  upon  a  picture  of  more  than  usual 
order  and  comfort. 

Lewis's  room!  The  master  of  the  house  had  been,  un- 
wontedly  particular  as  to  the  perfection  therein  of  the  small- 
est detail,  and  now  it  was  ready  and  awaiting  the  long- 
expected  visitor. 

And,  as  he  looked,  a  dreamy  smile  crept  under  Fargus's 
mustache.  Before  a  certain  dear,  tired  brown  head  pressed 
yonder  pillow  to-night  the  father  would  have  confessed  and 
been  judged.  Despite  the  coming  ordeal,  despite  the  un- 
sparing clearness  of  vision  with  which  he  looked  forward  to 
its  possible  results,  there  had  come  to  him,  once  familiarized 
with  the  idea  of  self-disclosure,  a  secret  foolish  and  un- 
acknowledged sweetness  in  the  thought  that  the  barrier  he 
had  himself  erected  would  at  last  be  broken  between  him 
and  his  son.  And  besides,  there  was  the  keen  satisfaction 
arising  from  the  certitude  of  being  able  thereby  to  assure  this 
son  a  fair  future  and  mental  peace,  of  being  able  to  expiate 
to  the  full,  and  repair  the  old  wrong,  no  matter  at  what 
cost  to  himself. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass,  David  Fargus,  confident  in  his 
power  of  benefiting  him,  awaited  his  visitor  with  almost 
joyful  anticipation. 

He  glanced  at  the  clock,  which  marked  close  upon  four, 
and  thought  with  impatience  of  the  three  long  hours  that 
had  yet  to  elapse  before  he  could  clasp  the  brave  young 
hand;  then,  pausing  in  his  pensive  walk,  he  suddenly  stood 
gazing  at  his  own  reflection  in  the  looking-glass,  struck  by 
a  curious  thought. 

No  doubt  that  face  of  his,  however  battered,  burned  and 
worn,  was  like  his  son's,  but  the  most  salient  features — the 
mouth  and  chin — were  hidden  by  the  close,  thick  beard. 
Why  not  remove  this  mask,  originally  adopted  to  disguise 
the  very  identity  he  was  now  anxious  to  vindicate?  Once 
more  shaven,  but  for  his  heavy  mustache,  the  resemblance 
between  them  would  be  something  striking,  or  else  he  was 
much  mistaken.  Moreover,  David  Fargus'  connection  with 
the  youthful  portrait,  now  in  the  Staple  Inn  chambers^  would 


Deadlock.  S41 

then  perchance  be  apparent — that  portrait  which  Lewis  did 
resemble. 

Delighted  with  the  idea,  Fargus  returned  to  his  own  room, 
rang  for  his  man,  ordered  some  shaving  water,  and  forthwith 
began  clipping  the  silken,  brown,  silver-streaked  hair  from 
cheek  and  chin  as  close  as  scissors  could  reach. 

But  as  Turner  was  hastening  to  him  with  the  steaming 
jug,  the  unwonted  sound  of  wheels  broke  upon  the  outer 
silence. 

Lewis  already?  Impossible!  He  drew  near  the  window 
and  looked  out  over  the  hedge  to  see  and  recognize  the  well- 
known  portmanteau  and  traveling-bag  on  the  box  of  the 
station  fly,  and  the  next  minute  to  discover  further,  not 
without  an  inexplicable  misgiving,  that  the  ramshackle 
vehicle  was  empty. 

While  he  stood  staring  somewhat  blankly  at  the  again 
departing  carriage.  Turner,  who  had  gone  out  to  attend  the 
bell,  re-entered  the  room. 

"Mr.  Kerr's  luggage  just  arrived  from  the  station,  sir.  Mr. 
Kerr  sent  word  that  he  was  walking  up." 

Fargus  drew  a  smiling  breath  of  relief.  The  probable  de- 
lay was  not  unwelcome,  after  all.  But  the  business  must 
be  hurried  with;  it  could  not  be  very  long  now  before  the 
visitor  made  his  appearance. 

"Turner,"  he  said,  stopping  the  servant  as  he  noiselessly 
retired,  "judging  from  your  appearance,  you  must  have  good 
razors." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Please  lend  me  one — and,  by  the  way,  I  have  not  shaved 
myself  for  more  than  twenty  years.  Among  your  numerous 
qualifications  would  you  reckon  a  competence  to  shave  me?" 

"Certainly,  sir." 

Ten  minutes  later  Fargus  emerged  from  the  careful  hands 
of  his  attendant  a  curiously  altered  being.  Though  the 
peaked  beard  had  been  a  not  unpleasing  adjunct  to  his 
grave,  rather  melancholy  countenance,  its  removal  disclosed 
to  advantage  the  handsome  lines  of  mouth  and  chin,  and 
reduced  his  age  to  all  appearance  some  ten  years.  He  paused 
to  contemplate  himself  with  a  satisfied  smile ;  the  likeness  to 
Lewis  was  wonderful. 

The  task  completed,  Fargus  strolled  into  his  wild  garden — 
to  look  forth,  across  the  privet  bushes,  toward  the  Woldham 
pine-woods. 

Five  o'clock  by  his  infallible  watch.  What  was  the  boy 
about?  Then  a  sudden  light  gleamed  through  the  growing 
anxiety.  Of  course,  of  course,  he  had  gone  to  Woldham! 
Having  placed  himself  so  near  the  magic  circle  by  taking 


242  Deadlock, 

the  short  cut  through  the  woods,  the  lover  had  heen  unable 
to  resist  the  attraction. 

As  the  afternoon  dragged  on,  however,  and  still  there  came 
no  sign  of  his  son,  he  began  to  grow  warm  with  a  new  hope. 

The  wind  ran  with  little  shivers  through  the  hollyhocks. 
There  were  great  cloud  banks  to  the  west.  "We  shall  have 
rain  to-morrow,"  thought  Fargus.  "I  am  glad  it  is  fair  at 
least  to-day,  for  my  boy's  home-coming." 

And  then,  as  he  reached  the  end  of  the  narrow  path  once 
more,  it  was  to  see  a  dark  figure  rapidly  emerging  from  the 
borderland  of  pines  into  the  slanting  sunlight  of  the  heath. 
Could  it  be  Lewis?  This  man's  shoulders  were  rounded,  he 
stumbled  occasionally,  and  dragged  his  feet,  although  he 
came  so  quickly,  in  a  way  as  unlike  as  possible  from  the 
young  soldier's  upright  carriage  and  clear,  swinging  gait. 
Perhaps  there  had  been  an  accident.  For  a  moment  the 
watcher's  heart  grew  cold,  and  the  bright  view  became  black 
to  his  eyes;  but  the  next  minute  all  was  clear  again;  it  was 
Lewis,  and  he  was  only  within  a  few  yards  of  him  now. 

Li  the  revulsion  of  his  hurrying  joy,  Fargus  waved  his 
hand  and  ran  back  to  the  little  gate  to  welcome  him.  Lewis 
was  rounding  the  hedge,  swaying  and  tripping  over  the  rough 
ground,  as  Fargus  emerged  from  the  garden  gatei  and  met 
him  face  to  face.  But  all  the  father's  warm  delight  was 
swept  away  by  a  chilling  doubt,  and  the  words  of  welcome 
died  unspoken  on  his  lips  when  he  encountered  the  haggard, 
unrecognizing  stare  of  two  blood-shot  eyes,  which  were  fixed 
on  him  till  their  owner  moved  quickly  out  of  his  path  and 
started  again  on  his  headlong  way.  Fargus  hied  after  his 
son. 

"Lewis,  what  is  it?  For  God's  sake,  what  has  happened? 
Is  it  possible  you  don't  know  me?  Pshaw!  I  had  forgotten 
about  that  beard  of  mine!" 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice,  the  bent,  hurrying  figure  started, 
halted  and  wheeled  slowly  around  upon  the  pursuer. 

The  young  man's  face  was  hard-set ;  there  was  inexpressible 
bitterness,  unmistakable  enmity,  in  his  eyes  as  he  measured 
Fargus  from  head  to  foot,  and  smiled  in  a  way  which  made 
the  latter's  blood  run  cold. 

"Is  this  indeed  you.  Colonel  Fargus?  You  must  forgive 
me  for  my  stupidity  in  not  recognizing  you  under  your 
altered  aspect!" 

The  voice  was  as  much  changed  as  the  rest  of  the  man. 
For  a  while  the  father  could  only  stare ;  then,  when  he  tried 
to  speak,  he  found  that,  under  the  angry  antagonism,  which 
it  was  so  hard  to  meet  from  those  eyes,  ideas  and  words 
seemed  to  fail  him  alike.    He  could  only  stammer  again: 


Deadlock,  243 

"Lewis,  what  has  happened?  Has  Charles  Hillyard 
dared " 

"I  have  heard  something  that  was  news  to  me,"  answered 
Lewis,  incisively.  "I  have  been  at  Woldham;  I  should  not 
have  been  surprised  to  find  you  thus  beautified  and  young 
after  what  I  heard  there,  should  I?  It  is  a  great  improve- 
ment. Colonel  Fargus ;  I  congratulate  you  in  every  way." 

"Lewis,  are  you  mad?"  with  an  outburst  of  indignant  af- 
fection. "My  boy,  things  have  gone  wrong  with  you  again; 
but  what  can  have  come  between  you  and  me?  Tell  me 
what  has  happened  at  Woldham.  I  thought  you  must  have 
gone  there,  and  my  instinct  about  it  was  right.  Oh,  why 
did  you  not  come  straight  to  me  first?" 

"You  would  have  prepared  me,  I  suppose?" 

"Prepared  you  for  what?  Is  it  Hillyard  again — has  he 
come  between  you  and  your  happiness  here,  too?" 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  fierce  grasp  on  his  arm  as  Lewis 
stepped  closely  up  to  him  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"Is  it  possible.  Colonel  Fargus,  that  you  are  speaking  in 
good  faith?  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know — that  you 
have  been  true,  after  all?  Bah!"  flinging  himself  away 
with  violence;  "what  a  fool  you  must  think  me,  to  imagine 
I  can  be  taken  in  by  this!  No,  by  God!  you  shall  not  feel 
my  pulse!    I  am  sick  of  this  pretense!" 

"Come  into  the  house,"  said  Fargus,  gravely.  "There  is 
a  terrible  misunderstanding  here,  or  else  you  are,  indeed, 
delirious.  Lewis,  you  owe  me  an  explanation ;  you  must  tell 
me  what  is  the  meaning  of  this." 

Again  giving  him  a  mistrustful  yet  wavering  look,  the 
young  man  sullenly  complied.  When  they  came  into  the  old, 
pleasant  room  Fargus  had  left  so  full  of  hope,  the  latter 
said,  in  accents  almost  of  entreaty: 

"Now,  Lewis,  speak." 

"Colonel  Fargus,  I — I  may  be  wronging  you;  pray  God 
I  am.  And  yet  why  should  I  wish  it,  after  all?  It  means 
happiness  to  her;  why  should  I  grudge  her  her  happiness?" 

"My  dear,  dear  boy  1     Do  try  and  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  alone — that  no  one  is  within  hear- 
ing?" 

More  and  more  convinced  that  Lewis'  senses  were  wander- 
ing, the  father,  in  great  distress,  rose  to  hiunor  him,  opened 
the  heavy  doors  of  the  adjacent  rooms,  to  close  them  again 
and  assure  him  of  the  impossibility  of  being  overheard. 
When  he  came  back,  however,  and  sat  down  opposite  his  son, 
the  look  that  the  latter  fixed  upon  him  was  once  more  keen 
and  reasoning  as  his  own. 

"Do  you  really  wish  to  hear  my  news.  Colonel  Fargus? 


244  Deadlock. 

Do  you  really  need  to  be  told  that  Maude  Woldham  never 
loved  Charles  Hillyard;  that,  although  she  may  once  have 
loved  Lewis  Kerr,  the  man  who  has  won  her  heart — who  holds 
it  now — is  no  other  than  Colonel  Fargus  himself?" 

For  a  second  the  father  again  thought  the  speaker  mad; 
but  the  next  moment,  with  dire,  irresistible  conviction,  the 
truth  of  these  evil  tidings  was  borne  in  upon  him.  Maude 
loved  him — ^him,  Fargus !  It  was  he  who  had  killed  his  son's 
happiness.  How  terrible  it  was!  A  spasm  passed  over  his 
face,  and  beads  of  cold  sweat  broke  upon  his  forehead;  his 
parched  tongue  cleaved  to  his  palate. 

The  cruel  scrutiny  of  Lewis'  eyes  relaxed.  He  flung  him- 
self on  a  chair,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Forgive  me,  Fargus,"  he  cried.  "I  see  I  have  been 
wrong.  Everything  is  wrong,  is  it  not  ?  I  ask  your  pardon ; 
I  must  have  been  mad  indeed  to  doubt  you." 

"My  God!"  The  words  burst  from  Fargus'  lips  at  length, 
with  a  sort  of  groan.  "It  is  incredible,  impossible! — an  old 
man  like  me!     Lewis,  it  cannot  be  true!'" 

Lewis  looked  up  again — read  consternation  written  on 
every  drawn  feature;  met  distressful  eyes  that  eagerly  sought 
his  face,  only  to  be  averted  again  as  if  in  shame;  and,  seeing 
thus  broken  down,  thus  struck  with  innocent  anguish  of 
guilt,  the  man  he  had  learned  to  honor  as  single  in  strength 
and  dignity  among  men,  was  smitten  with  remorse  in  his 
turn. 

He  rose  and  went  over  to  his  host.  Their  eyes  met  in  a 
long,  deep  look. 

"Do  you  account  yourself  an  old  man?"  said  Lewis,  sadly. 
"What  do  years  signify  if  years  bring  no  waste  ?  What  have 
they  brought  to  you  but  greater  wealth  of  mental  and  bodily 
strength?  A  man  is  aged  as  he  feels — do  you  feel  old?  I 
take  it,  there  is  not  a  man  of  thirty  within  this  wide  horizon 
you  could  not  dispose  of  out  of  hand;  and  in  point  of  in- 
fluence     What  is  there  strange  in  her,  too,  having  felt 

what  I,  careless  fellow  that  I  am,  who  have  knocked  about 
the  world  so  much  already,  succumbed  to  at  our  very  first 
meeting?  You  went  often  to  Woldham;  she  saw  you  often. 
No,  there  is  nothing  incredible,  nothing  impossible,  in  the 
matter.  It  was  natural  she  should  love  you,  when  she 
thought  that  you  loved  her;  it  was  natural  she  should  love 
you,  even  without  thought  of  return.  But  it  is  the  end  of 
my  hopes — ^yes,  the  end!"  raising  his  voice  to  drown  the 
attempted  protest.  "I  heard  it  from  her  own  lips,  I  tell  you ; 
she  did  not  know  I  was  near.  The  poor  old  general  had 
set  me  there  to  listen,  while  he  prepared  the  way  for  me, 
as  he  said.    But  she  thought  he  was  speaking  of  you.    I 


Deadlock.  245 

cannot  tell  you  how  it  came;  but  I  know  the  truth  at  last — 
the  truth!  She  will  never  care  for  man  again.  Her  whole 
heart  is  yours — she  is  all  yours !  Oh,  if  you  could  have  been 
there  in  my  stead!  She  loves  you  as  wholly  as  I  love  her. 
Can  I  say  more?" 

Stricken  by  the  magnitude  of  the  unforeseen  disaster,  Far- 
gU8  sat  in  hopeless  silence.  As  a  flash  of  lightning  darts  its 
far-reaching  glare  across  mighty  space,  to  die  next  instant 
in  utter  blackness,  so  a  brief  apprehension  of  the  endless 
import  of  this  revelation,  in  all  its  manifold  phases,  had 
broken  upon  the  darkness  of  his  thoughts,  only  to  leave 
them  again  in  fathomless  misery. 

"You  never  suspected  this,"  pursued  Lewis,  halting  in 
front  of  him  once  more,  and  now  speaking  in  milder  accents. 
"Your  surprise  is  as  genuine  as  your  distress.  But  can  you 
wonder  at  my  suspicions?  Was  it  conceivable  that  woman 
could  be  so  deceived  ?  And  then  to  find  you  so  altered,  look- 
ing so  changed,  so  handsome,  so  young  again!  Oh,  why 
have  you  cut  off  your  beard.  Colonel  Fargus?" 

A  smdle  of  exceeding  pain  quivered  on  the  elder  man's 
mouth. 

"That  I  shall  tell  you  by-and-by.  It  had  nothing  to  do 
with  Maude  Woldham." 

This  simple  statement  laid  at  last  the  ever-recurring  doubt. 

"I  might  have  known,"  said  Lewis,  "that  you  could  play 
no  one  false,  let  alone  me — you  who,  when  I  was  despondent, 
urged  me  not  to  yield ;  who  have  secured  me  my  rights — my 
rights !  What  do  I  care  for  them  ?  What  is  their  value  now  ? 
Charlie  might  as  well  have  had  them  all.  What  a  mockery 
it  all  is!  And  yet  I  am  blackly  ungrateful  to  you!  Could 
you  but  know  what  this  is  to  me!" 

"Who  could  have  foreseen,"  interrupted  Fargus,  hoarsely — 
"I,  who  have  had  no  thought  of  woman's  love  for  more  than 
half  a  lifetime — that  this  should  come  upon  me  ?" 

"I  could,  I  suppose,  had  I  been  here  to  see,"  cried  Lewis. 
"Colonel  Fargus,  what  comes  to  you  as  a  trouble  would  have 
meant  to  me  happiness  beyond  dreams.  And  out  of  this 
miserable  waste  and  discord  nothing  is  to  come  but  more 
waste  and  discord;  misery  for  me,  sorrow  for  her — ^poor 
Maude !  She  cast  me  off  with  contempt.  She  called  my  love 
persecution.  Can  a  man  ever  forget  that  ?  It  has  seared  me  to 
the  soul !  I,  whose  whole  being  was  encompassed  by  but  one 
thought,  that — Heaven  forgive  me! — I  would  gladly  damn 
my  eternal  soul  for  her  love!" 

Lewis  stood  still,  and  again  lifted  his  hands  to  his  head 
with  a  gesture  of  passionate  bewilderment. 

"Colonel  Fargus,  you  do  not  speak;  but  you  must  forgive 


246 


Deadlock. 


me.  Colonel  Fargus,  I  do  believe  you  when  you  say  you 
knew  nothing  of  this.  I  believe  you  are  all  I  thought  you 
were;  but,  now  that  you  do  know,  is  it  possible  that  you  can 
throw  away  the  prize  within  your  grasp?  Think  of  it, 
colonel — she  loves  you.  You  cannot  be  in  earnest  when  you 
say  you  do  not  mean  to  take  advantage  of  this." 

Fargus  rose  from  his  chair  with  a  stiff,  slow  movement. 
In  a  moment  he  had  decided  upon  his  course  of  action. 
He  would  speak  now,  tell  his  heavy  and  precious  secret, 
though  the  moment  was  inauspicious  indeed. 

"You  do  not  answer,"  said  Lewis,  impatiently. 

"I  do  not  answer,  my  boy,  because  to  me  the  question  is 
painful  in  its  absurdity.  Not  more  surely  than  if  I  were 
stretched  on  my  deathbed  are  such  things  over  for  me.  And 
now — would  to  God  it  could  prove  anything  but  further 
grief  to  you! — I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  that  the  news  you 
have  brought  to  me  to-day  is  indeed  a  calamity  to  me. 
These  proofs,  Lewis,  that  I  wrote  to  you  about " 

Lewis,  who  had  looked  up,  impressed  by  the  strange  solem- 
nity of  his  companion's  manner,  here  again  broke  forth 
impetuously : 

"The  proofs !  the  proofs !  In  God's  name.  Colonel  Fargus, 
do  not  talk  about  that  now!  What  can  it  be  to  me  with- 
out her?" 

"But  you  must  listen  to  me,  Lewis.  It  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary— if  not  for  your  own  sake,  for  mine." 

"For  yours — ^what  do  you  mean?" 

"This  question  concerns  me  as  nearly  as  you;  my  fate 
is  bound  up  with  yours;  in  your  misfortune  vanish  all  my 
hopes.  It  is  the  death-blow  to  my  happiness.  I  speak  in 
riddles,  I  know;  but  all  will  soon  be  clear  to  you.  You 
have  wondered  often  at  the  strange  interest  I  seemed  to  take 
in  you.  You  wondered,  yet  you  were  grateful  to  me  for 
what  you  called  my  kindness,  and  you  were  as  willing  as  I, 
in  the  openness  of  your  heart,  to  take  advantage  of  those 
incidents  which  ripened  into  affectionate  intimacy  the  ac- 
quaintance begun  in  a  seemingly  casual  meeting." 

"Seemingly?"  echoed  Lewis,  with  a  frown. 

"Yes,  seemingly.  When  the  stranger,  David  Fargus, 
crossed  your  path  for  the  first  time,  one  night,  in  an  out-of- 
the-way,  empty  tavern-room,  it  was  of  set  and  deliberate  pur- 
pose.    He  had  gone  over  there  to  seek  you." 

The  frown  deepened  on  Lewis'  face.  He  bent  his  head 
to  listen  with  a  quickening  breath. 

"Fortune  favored  the  scheme.  Acquaintance  soon  ripened 
into  intimacy,  intimacy  to  affection.  You  could  not  suspect 
that  this  American's  very  presence  in  Europe  was  connected 


Deadlock,  247 

with  you.  Far  less  could  you  imagine,  when  we  listened 
together  to  the  history  recounted,  with  such  unwarrantable 
conclusions  from  insufficient  facts,  by  Charles  Hillyard — ^the 
story  of  your  father  you  never  knew — that  I,  your  informal 
adviser,  not  only  knew  already  every  detail  thereof,  but 
much  more  besides  than  any  one  else  in  the  room." 

Lewis  had  started  violently  at  the  mention  of  his  father, 
but  he  said  nothing,  and  continued  to  look  keenly  into  the 
speaker's  eyes. 

"What  this  knowledge  is,"  pursued  Fargus,  "I  will  now 
tell  you  in  a  few  words.  It  never  could  occur  to  you,  since 
it  never  occurred  to  George  Kerr's  contemporaries,  that  no 
man  should  really  be  accounted  dead  on  the  ground  of  mere 
disappearance.  For  God's  sake,  Lewis,  be  calm!  Your 
father  was  not  drowned,  as  you  and  every  one  else  were  led 
to  believe.  And  with  this  indubitable  fact  are  connected  the 
coming  over  of  David  Fargus  and  his  present  relations 
with  you." 

"My  father — alive!  You  have  seen  him?"  cried  Lewis, 
jumping  up  and  staring  wildly  at  the  speaker.  "He  is  alive 
now  ?" 

A  look  from  Fargus  was  sufficient  assent. 

"You  come  from  him!  Where  is  he.  Colonel  Fargus?" 
Then  the  ringing  excitement  of  the  voice  suddenly  dropped. 
"Why  this  mystery?  Why  have  I  been  so  long  disowned? 
It  is  incredible!  I  have  cherished  and  hugged  the  pride  of 
my  dead  father  all  my  life.  What  can  I  now  feel  if  it  be 
true  that  he  is  living,  and  that  for  five-and-twenty  years  he 
has  ignored  me,  cast  me  away  ?  What  am  I  to  think  of  this 
sudden  interest  taken  in  me  by  the  man  who  now  claims 
to  be  my  father  ?" 

Fargus  had  grown  whiter  than  ever  under  this  cruel 
arraignment,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  check  it,  and  Lewis, 
carried  away  by  the  current  of  his  bitterness,  went  on : 

"Pah!  what  a  day's  work  this  has  been!  Am  I  also  to 
find  that  even  that  supposed  friendship  was  also  but  an 
element  in  this  disinterested  scheme?  That  the  man  to 
whom  I  confided  not  only  my  private  affairs,  but  my  most 
cherished  hopes,  was  after  all  but  an  emissary  cleverly  pre- 
paring the  way  to  place  me  in  the  position  it  was  requisite 
I  should  occupy?  But  I  interrupted  your  exposition  of  the 
case.  Colonel  Fargus.     Let  me  hear  the  message." 

"Lewis,"  he  answered,  deliberately — there  was  an  immense 
sadness  beneath  his  calm — "Lewis,  your  impatient,  hasty  con- 
clusions at  the  very  outset  of  a  difficult  explanation  are  im- 
just  to  your  father;  unjust  to  me,  with  whom  none  of  your 


24$ 


Father  and  Son. 


previous  relations  have  given  you  a  right  to  assume  a 
sneering  tone." 

Lewis  waved  his  hand  impatiently.  "Go  on,  in  Heaven's 
name!    This  is  a  cruel  blow  to  me." 

After  a  short  pause  of  painful  consideration,  Fargus  went 
over  to  his  desk  and  brought  out  the  manuscript. 

"In  this,"  he  said,  "you  will  find  all.  I  wrote  it  for  you, 
as  soon  as  I  received  your  last  letter — ^wrote  it  with  the  sole 
intention  of  giving  you  back  your  peace  of  mind.  One 
moment  more,"  he  added,  as  Lewis  hastily  extended  his 
hand.  "Every  word  you  will  read  here  is  true  in  fact  and 
in  spirit.  As  a  legal  document  in  your  favor — as  a  document, 
I  say,  to  prove  your  position  as  the  legitimate  son  of  George 
Kerr,  and  in  his  absence  as  the  heir-in-law — I  know  its  value 
is  nil.  Happily,  no  such  thing  is  required  now.  What 
was,  however,  required,  what  was  due  to  you,  was  a  state- 
ment of  such  evidences  as  would  disburden  your  mind  of  that 
gnawing  doubt,  that  uneasiness,  which  has  of  late  helped 
to  poison  it." 

Lewis  spread  the  papers  on  the  table  without  a  word,  and 
almost  threw  himself  upon  them  in  a  vain  endeavor  to 
decipher  them  in  the  darkness,  while,  with  a  heavy  nigh, 
Fargus  rose  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

FATHER  AND  SON. 

Oppressed  by  the  accumulated  disappointments,  Fargus  in- 
stinctively sought  the  cool  twilight  spaces  out  of  doors. 

He  was  standing  beneath  the  room  he  had  just  left;  the 
servant  had  even  then  brought  in  the  lamp,  and  Lewis, 
once  more  alone,  was  at  last  about  to  read  for  himself  the 
story  of  his  father's  life. 

Fargus  stopped  and  watched  the  silent  scene  within.  The 
light  fell  full  upon  the  young  man's  troubled  forehead;  not- 
withstanding the  distance,  every  shade  upon  it  was  visible 
to  the  watcher,  as,  seated  facing  him,  his  elbows  upon  the 
table,  Lewis  closely  scanned  the  written  sheets.  From  his 
post  in  the  outer  darkness  Fargus  could  follow  his  progress 
almost  line  by  line;  in  his  mind  was  looking  over  the  broad, 
bent  shoulder,  seeing  the  words  as  they  passed  beneath  the 
downcast  eyes ;  he  could  have  told  well-nigh  the  very  thoughts, 
the  impatience,  suspicion,  anxiety,  that  were  stimggling  be- 
hind the  drawn  brows  over  these  first  pages  of  careful  prep- 


Father  and  Son.  249 

aration,  and  necessarily  somewhat  lengthy  preamble.  Pres- 
ently the  reader  made  a  startled  movement,  bent  over  the 
writing  with  staring  intentness  for  a  moment,  then  looked 
up  and  dropped  his  hands,  and,  as  under  the  light  his  face 
was  blasted  with  a  white,  stony  astonishment,  Fargus  knew 
that  the  name  adopted  by  the  George  Kerr  of  old,  on  the  day 
of  his  civil  death,  had  now,  for  the  first  time,  appeared  on 
the  pages  of  his  biography. 

After  a  long  interval  Lewis  brushed  his  forehead  with  the 
familiar  gesture,  and  once  again  resumed  his  task.  And  the 
father  knew  that  under  the  son's  gaze  was  now  spread  forth 
the  strange  history  of  George  Kerr's  transmigration  of  soul, 
of  his  varied  life  under  the  new  personality,  his  sudden  return 
to  things  of  old,  and  the  novel  relations  which  had  existed  be- 
tween him  and  his  new-found  kinsfolk  until  the  present  hour ; 
and  he  earnestly  watched  for  any  indication  of  the  mood  in 
which  these  revelations  were  received. 

During  the  perusal  of  this  last  part  Lewis  paused  several 
times.  When  he  came  to  the  end  he  slowly  gathered  the 
papers  together,  replaced  them  in  their  envelope.  Then,  with 
his  profile  blackly  defined  against  the  inner  light,  he  became 
wrapped  in  stillness,  as  though  pliuiged  in  profoundest  con- 
verse with  himself.    Fargus  re-entered  the  room. 

His  son  turned  upon  him  a  hard,  scrutinizing  glance;  his 
face  was  as  a  sealed  book  to  the  father's  eager  eyes.  The 
latter's  heart  sank. 

"Great  God!  he  does  not  believe  me!  Oh,  Lewis,  my  own 
boy!"  The  last  words  forced  themselves  audibly  from  hia 
lips. 

The  young  man  seemed  moved  by  this  cry  of  anguish,  so 
unlike  the  usual  deliberate  speech  of  the  man.  Rising  to  his 
feet,  he  advanced  and  faltered  out: 

"What  can  I  say?  Colonel  Fargus,  I  am  utterly  be- 
wildered." 

"Colonel  Fargus!"  repeated  the  other.  "It  is  so,  then. 
I  am  only  David  Fargus!  Of  course,  how  could  Fargus 
claim  George  Kerr's  son?  And  yet,"  with  savage  earnest- 
ness, "you  are  my  boy,  and  I  do  claim  you — and  all  I  have 
tried  to  do  for  you  shall  not  have  been  done  in  vain!  You 
must  believe  that  I  am  your  father,  that  I  am  the  George 
Kerr  whom  the  world  has  forgotten  and  will  never  know 


again 


l» 


Without  taking  his  eye  off  Lewis'  now  wondering  counte- 
nance, he  seized  the  lamp  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other 
grasped  the  young  man's  arm. 

"Come  and  see  for  yourself !"  he  cried,  and  drew  him  into 
th«  adjacent  bedroom,  baiting  with  him  in  front  of  tbo 


250  Father  and  Son. 

mirror.  There,  clasping  him  round  the  neck,  he  drew  the 
youthful  face  near  his  own  and,  stooping  forward,  held  the 
steady  light  aloft.  / 

Their  eyes  met  in  the  glass.  Brown  eyes  in  both  faces 
(set  wide  apart  and  well  covered  under  an  energetic  brow), 
with  the  same  double  furrow  between,  fostered  by  habitually 
reflective  mood,  less  deep-set,  perhaps,  in  the  younger  face, 
but  not  brighter.  Now,  with  pupils  widened  in  the  insuf- 
ficient light,  and  under  the  strain  of  growing  emotion,  they 
were  strangely  alike,  for  all  the  five-and-twenty  years  of  life 
which  separated  them. 

As  the  first  recognition  of  this  unthought-of  resemblance 
flashed  upon  Lewis,  he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  disengage 
himself  and  turn  around  upon  his  companion.  But  ho 
checked  himself  and  peered  into  the  glass,  to  become  finally 
quite  absorbed  in  contemplation. 

Never  before  had  Lewis  subjected  human  physiognomy  to 
such  unsparing  scrutiny.  Feature  by  feature,  line  by  line,  he 
compared  the  two  faces  reflected  before  him  with  intent, 
eager,  yet  deliberate  criticism.  In  some  details  they  were 
unlike.  His  own  straight  nose,  somewhat  short  and  wide, 
in  no  way  recalled  that  of  Fargus — high-bridged,  aquiline  of 
bend  and  narrow  of  nostril.  The  ears,  too,  were  dissimilar, 
in  his  case  smaller  and  less  masculine,  inherited,  in  fact, 
from  the^delicate  beauty  of  his  Spanish  mother.  But  in  all 
the  other  features  which  gave  character  to  a,  face  the  repro- 
duction was  unmistakable,  and  shone  forth  assertingly,  since 
Fargus's  masking  beard  had  been  discarded. 

The  strong,  square  chin  with  the  cleft  dent — a  well-known 
Kerr  characteristic;  the  straight  mouth,  larger  and  less  thin- 
lipped  in  Lewis,  but  unmistakably  cut  on  the  same  lines,  set 
with  the  same  firm  yet  kindly  decisiveness ;  the  square  brow, 
solid  and  smooth,  with  low-growing  hair  of  the  same  brovra, 
now  touched  with  gray  upon  the  elder  man — all  tallied  un- 
mistakably, unusually,  even  down  to  the  curious  coincidence 
of  the  deep  scar,  still  red  and  angry  upon  the  son's  pale 
face,  while  showing  markedly  upon  the  father's  cheek,  white 
even  as  the  recent  invalid's  where  the  razor  had  passed  that 
day. 

And  presently,  as  Lewis  gazed,  a  sudden  discomposure 
spread  over  his  countenance. 

Fargus  put  down  the  lamp  on  the  table,  and  with  a  twist 
of  his  fingers  turned  up  the  ends  of  his  mustache  after  the 
Velasquez-like  manner  which  Lewis  cultivated.  This  last 
touch  was  almost  magical,  qualifying  as  it  did  the  habitual 
gravity  of  his  mien. 

"Now,  my  son,"  said  he,  speaking  to  him  for  the  first  time 


Father  and  Son.  251 

in  the  Spanish  tongue,  "thou  no  doubt  seest  my  reason  for 
attempting  to  regenerate  myself  a  little.  Dost  thou  want 
further  proof,  Lewis,  my  son?     Give  me  thy  hand." 

There  was  music  for  Lewis'  ears  in  that  language,  the 
sound  of  which  was  associated  with  the  only  "home"  he  had 
ever  known.  He  was,  however,  too  bewildered  by  the  torrent 
of  new  conceptions  that  during  the  last  hour  had  swept 
through  his  mind  to  feel  fresh  surprise. 

Noting  the  increased  intentness  in  his  son's  looks,  Fargus 
again  approached  the  light,  took  the  young  man's  hand,  and 
turned  it  palm  upward. 

"Lewie,  all  I  want  is  to  show  thee  another  sign  of  thy 
heredity.  See  that  straight  line,  cutting  thy  hand  from  side 
to  side  with  such  curiously  marked  definition." 

Without  answering,  Lewis  looked  obediently  down  upon  a 
palm  of  a  description  to  have  indeed  puzzled  a  chiromancist. 

"No  doubt  you  never  even  noticed  this  peculiarity;  and 
yet  it  is  quite  singular,  quite  unlike  the  irregular  and  broken 
lines,  with  ends  overlapping,  which  you  would  find,  more 
or  less  diversfied,  but  always  essentially  the  same,  on  other 
people's  hands.  Now,  there  is  the  mark  on  your  hand.  I 
looked  for  it  and  found  it  when  you  lay  ill  and  unconscious' 
in  Brussels;  and  here  it  is  on  mine!" 

Fargus  turned  his  own  hand  supine,  and  placed  it  beside 
his  son's;  they  were  identical  in  their  unusual  characteristic. 
After  a  moment's  pause  he  closed  it  again,  and  silently 
pointed  to  the  signet-ring,  on  which  Lewis  at  one  glance 
recognized  the  ancient  crest,  and  a  moment  later  the  same 
heraldic  device  upon  the  inner  case  of  the  watch,  which  was 
next  proffered  for  his  inspection. 

"But  why  have  recourse  to  such  by-evidence  ?  Lewis,  bring 
before  your  mind  the  portrait  of  your  father,  taken  when 
he  was  no  older  than  you  are  now.  Through  the  mask  of 
these  many  years  can  you  not  see  the  same  man  again 
before  you?" 

In  that  almost  spiritualized  state,  born  of  great  mental 
excitement,  which  in  singleness  of  thought  is  akin  to  dream- 
ing, Lewis  found  his  gaze  riveted  on  the  bright  eyes  which 
looked  with  masterful  glow  so  straight  into  his.  A  vision  of 
the  portrait  arose  before  him  and  overlapped  the  living  image, 
to  fade  away  again  and  leave  him  gazing  at  the  reality,  un- 
certain for  a  moment  which  was  which.  Those  were  in  truth 
the  same  eyes  that  had  watched  him  in  pained  faithfulness 
in  his  cradle  at  Seville,  in  his  lonely  Edinburgh  lodgings,  in 
his  College  rooms,  in  Staple  Inn ! 

They  stood  face  to  face  one  moment,  with  eyes  searching 


2S2  Father  and  Son. 

each  other's  thoughts;  then  their  hands  joined  by  one  warm 
impulse,  and  the  younger,  in  a  low,  humble  voice  murmured : 

"I  do  believe — forgive  me." 

At  this,  Fargus,  the  stem  and  self-possessed,  broke  down; 
tears  started  to  his  eyes. 

"Forgive  you,  my  son!"  he  cried,  in  halting  accents;  "is  it 
not  I  who  should  ask  to  be  forgiven  for  the  past,  and  still 
more  for  the  harm  I  have  unwittingly  caused  you  now? — I, 
who  never  deserted  a  son  like  you,  my  big,  brave,  clever  boy !" 

He  paused,  and  for  a  while  silently  contemplated  the  young 
man  from  head  to  foot,  with  pride  burning  through  his  wet 
lashes. 

"And  yet  it  has  been  my  fate  to  bring  nothing  to  you, 
after  all,  but  misery.  My  first  step  across  your  path  all  but 
cost  you  your  life  .  .  .  my  very  efforts  to  help  you  on 
toward  happiness  have  destroyed  your  hopes." 

Letting  the  young  man's  hand  fall,  Fargus  stopped,  his 
face  stamped  with  such  depth  of  sadness  that  Lewis'  heart 
was  filled  with  compassion. 

Filial  respect  is  innate  in  all  refined  natures,  but  filial  love 
can  only  spring  from  prolonged  association.  It  was  this  sense 
of  respect,  however,  which  stirred  Lewis'  brave,  warm  heart 
into  protest  at  last. 

"For  God's  sake,  sir,  do  not  so  misunderstand  me!  Do 
not  believe  that  I  would  now  take  upon  myself  to  pass  judg- 
ment on — on  my  father's  actions.  I  am — ^we  are  both  victims 
of  circumstances.     The  past  is  beyond  recall." 

"One  thing,  at  least,  sir,  you  have  done  for  me  to-day,  for 
which  I  owe  you  gratitude — ^you  have  roused  me  from  my 
foolish  weakness ;  the  time  has  come  to  be  a  man  once  more, 
and  resiune  self-control.  Before  I  again  leave  England  you 
must  be  restored  to  your  rightful  position  as  the  master  of 
Gilham " 

"Lewis!"  cried  Fargus.  "Is  it  possible  you  can  so  mis- 
conceive the  position  ?  Never,  never  speak  so  again.  I  know 
you  did  not  mean  this  affront.  George  Kerr  is  dead — dead 
to  all  but  you.  The  money  is  yours,  the  place  is  yours;  do 
with  them  what  you  will,  but  for  God's  sake  never  insult 
me  again  by  offering  them  to  me!" 


Dinner  was  over  at  last;  host  and  guest  sat  on  either  side 
of  the  hearth  with  unen joyed  pipe  in  hand,  absently  watching 
the  metamorphosis  from  yellow  flame  to  red  and  gray  ash 
of  the  piled-up  wood  fire.  The  meal  had  been  an  unpleasant 
ordeal. 

Before  the  end  of  dinner  many  had  been  the  spells  of 


Father  and  Son.  253 

meditative  silence  between  father  and  son  as  they  sat  oppo- 
site each  other,  and  when  they  at  last  adjourned  to  the  study 
both  by  tacit  consent  yielded  to  the  impression  of  the  hour, 
and  fell  into  silence,  to  follow  undisturbedly  the  drift  of 
their  own  thoughts. 

And  then  to  Fargus  slowly  but  fatally  there  once  more 
unrolled  itself  to  view  a  picture  of  the  consequences  he  had 
brought  upon  himself  and  others  by  his  own  acts.  Lewis 
was  indeed  now  master  of  his  inheritance,  but  at  what  cost — 
only  through  the  incongruous  interference  of  an  angry 
woman!  From  the  father  nothing  had  come  but  failure, 
irremediable  miscarriage  of  purpose;  worse  than  all,  his  was 
the  black  shadow  now  cast  upon  his  son's  life — upon  two 
young  lives;  for  bitter,  no  doubt,  were  the  thoughts  evolved 
at  that  very  moment  within  the  lovely  head  yonder  among 
the  pines  on  the  hill.  What  would  he  not  give  to  be  able 
to  recall,  if  it  could  be  done  without  jeopardy  to  Lewis'  pros- 
pects, their  former  easy  relations  of  friend  to  friend,  instead 
of  this  ghastly  constraint,  this  terrible  playing  at  father 
and  son? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  which  for  Fargus,  on  that  long- 
looked-for  evening,  fQled  the  silence  of  the  chamber  at  the 
Lone  Grange. 

In  equally  absorbed  mood  sat  Lewis,  absently  smoking,  now 
gazing  with  unsettled  speculation  at  the  figure  opposite  him, 
at  once  so  familiar  and  so  strange  in  its  new  character,  now 
dreamily  peering  into  the  dance  of  flame  on  the  hearth.  He 
had  said  he  would  be  a  man  again,  would  cut  off  the  past  with 
its  clinging  and  disabling  sorrow,  its  sapping  longings  and  un- 
manly weakess  of  despair,  and  begin  a  new  life ;  ay,  but  how  ? 
His  heart  grew  faint  at  the  thought  of  existence  at  Gilham 
Court  in  deadly  monotony  and  tantalizing  proximity  to  his 
lost  ideal. 

Could  he  leave  that  pale,  sad  man  who  was  his  father  ?  could 
he  refuse  the  duty  he  had  cast  upon  him,  and  abandon  the 
headship  of  his  house?  And  with  a  weary  sigh  he  would  see 
all  his  plans  crumble  again  into  blank  uncertainty,  and  chide 
himself  in  vain  for  the  mental  palsy  which  seemed  to  make 
him  so  absolutely  indifferent  to  the  great  fact  that  he  had 
found  a  father. 

The  clock-hand  went  its  dreary  round  twice  over  the  hours, 
the  fire  fell  and  sank  low,  the  pipes  had  long  been  cold,  when 
the  eyes  of  both  men  met  again  at  last.  In  one  look  each  saw 
how  devious  paths  of  thought  had  brought  them  to  the  same 
point — a  dull  and  blank  wall  of  utter  hopelosaneas.  There 
was  no  need  for  words. 

Farjfus  rose  with  a  sigh  of  weariness. 


254  I^atlier  and  Son. 

"When  I  think,  my  dear  boy,  that  you,  on  whora  I  have 

brought  all  this — ^you  spoke  about  my  forgiveness "    He 

paused  in  eloquent  speechlessness;  then,  as  one  who  gives  up 
the  search  after  an  impossible  solution,  continued :  "To-mor- 
row, perhaps,  we  may  come  to  a  decision  as  to  what  is  best  to 
do;  now  my  head  is  spent.  Good-night.  Do  not  brood  too 
much ;  to-morrow  we  shall  talk.    God  bless  you,  Lewis !" 

He  lit  a  candle  for  his  guest,  then  one  for  himself.  The 
light  flickered  upon  his  face,  and  Lewis,  with  a  sudden  sharp 
pang,  saw  how  lined  and  worn  and  drawn  it  was.  Only  a  few 
hours  ago  the  young  man  had  bitterly  reproached  him  for  his 
youthful  appearance ;  now,  as  he  stood,  and  in  silence  pressed 
his  hand,  his  father  looked  indeed  an  old  man. 

With  the  relief-bringing  hour  of  dawn,  sleep  came  upon 
Lewis'  tired  brain.  He  had  passed  most  of  the  night  in 
ceaseless  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  fighting  with  the 
problem  he  was  unable  to  conquer,  and  at  last,  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  both  mental  and  physical,  he  had  flung  himself,  with- 
out undressing,  on  his  bed.  And  now  sleep  had  come  to  him ; 
but  it  was  the  unrestf ul,  dream-tossed  sleep  of  a  mind  swing- 
ing on  the  hinge  of  indecision,  from  recurring  worry  of  boot- 
less search  to  recurring  failure. 

It  was  dark  around  him,  and  yet  there  was  light  somewhere. 
Chilled  to  the  marrow,  still  \inder  the  spell  of  his  nightmare, 
he  sprang  from  the  bed  and  pushed  open  the  door,  dimly  won- 
dering to  find  it  ajar,  for  he  remembered  to  have  closed  it 
over  night.  In  the  inner  room  a  candle  was  fitfully  burning 
itself  out  in  its  socket.  Seized  with  a  childish  terror,  he 
rushed  to  Fargus'  room  and  knocked  loudly.  There  was  no 
answer.  He  took  up  the  flickering  light  and  went  in.  The 
room  was  cold  and  empty.  The  bed  was  undisturbed.  Hardly 
knowing  what  he  was  doing,  with  dread  apprehensions  upon 
him,  he  came  back  again,  and  began  to  search  the  house. 
With  the  draught  in  the  cold  passage  the  dying  flamie  went 
out,  but  the  cold  light  of  breaking  day  was  already  spreading 
through  the  curtainless  windows,  and  showed  him  each  room 
as  he  entered  it  as  forlorn  and  abandoned  as  the  last.  Up  and 
down  numberless  stairs  and  passages,  into  chamber  after 
chamber,  he  hurried  in  frenzied  seeking,  ever  and  anon  calling 
Fargus'  name  in  fearsome  voice,  to  receive  no  answer  save  the 
dismal,  ghostly  echo  of  the  empty  house,  to  find  everywhere  the 
same  silence  and  void — all  empty  and  solitary  as  in  his  dream. 

With  that  last  vision  of  his  father's  face,  grown  so  old  and 
sorrow-stricken  in  his  eyes,  he  returned  at  length  to  the  study, 
too  much  troubled  even  to  feel  shame  of  the  terror  which  en- 
compassed him.  There,  in  the  shuttered  darkness,  he  had  to 
procure  another  candle,  and,  as  the  light  shot  up,  his  eyes  fell 


Father  and  Son.  255 

upon  the  white  glimmer  of  an  envelope  prominent  upon  the 
green  cloth  of  the  center  table.  He  lifted  it  with  a  shaking 
hand,  to  find  his  name  upon  it — ^his  name  in  his  father's  writ- 
ing— and  tore  it  open. 

"Dear  Son  (it  read) :  "I  must  go.  The  whole  of  the 
night  I  have  spent  in  trying  to  think  what  is  best  to  do. 
There  is  only  one  way;  I  must  leave  you.  Better,  perhaps, 
for  you  had  I  never  sought  you  at  all ;  and  if  now  by  going ' 
from  you  in  this  hurried  manner,  and  seeming  to  desert  you 
again,  I  cause  you  fresh  trouble,  you  will  forgive  me,  thinking 
how  terrible  it  is  for  me.  I  must  leave  you,  dear  son.  This 
is  to  be  my  punishment  for  a  selfish  past,  and  as  such  I  accept 
it,  and  hope  that  it  may  remove  one  cause  of  distress  in  your 
life.  Do  not  henceforth  think  of  the  father,  but  only  of  the 
friend  who  would  have  made  the  sacrifice  of  leaving  you 
sooner  had  he  suspected  that  he  could  ever  stand  between  you 
and  your  happiness. 

"And  now  the  time  has  come.  I  will  not  wait  to  meet  you 
again;  you  have  had  too  many  painful  scenes  through  me 
already.  I  give  myself  until  the  candle  burns  out  to  be  under 
the  same  roof  with  you,  then  I  will  look  once  more  upon  your 
face — that  face  which  has  grown  so  dear  to  me — as  you  sleep 
there  next  to  me,  and  then  take  up  my  lonely  life  again. 
Good-by,  dear  Lewis.  Burn  this  letter.  I  know  you  will 
respect  my  secret.  Do  not  seek  to  find  me.  Do  what  your 
heart  and  judgment  prompt  you.  I  have  confidence  in  both. 
I  have  confidence  also  in  your  future.     God  bless  you !" 

Lewis  read  these  lines,  incoherently,  hurriedly  dropped  from 
a  trembling  pen.  In  the  silence  and  cold  of  his  solitude  the 
misery  of  his  dream  returned  upon  him  with  an  iron  grip  as 
he  realized  their  import.  His  father,  like  his  love,  had  left 
him — ^had  faded  out  of  his  life  forever. 

Suddenly  a  flash  of  energy  roused  him.  The  words  of  the 
letter  seemed  to  print  themselves  in  fire  upon  his  brain. 
"I  give  myself  till  the  candle  burns  out."  The  candle  had 
only  just  burned  out.  It  was  but  a  few  moments  ago  since  his 
father,  that  melancholy,  aged  figure,  had  towered  over  him, 
light  in  hand,  and  entered  into  his  dreams— only  a  few  mo- 
ments ago  that  a  door  had  really  been  opened,  that  the  gate 
had  closed,  echoing  in  his  half -conscious  brain.  Fargus  was 
gone,  indeed,  but  he  could  not  be  far.  off. 

And  at  once,  under  the  thought,  the  paralyzing  horror  of 
his  nightmare  gave  way  to  a  warm  glow  of  reaction.  With 
the  fever  of  sudden  resolution,  he  dashed  into  the  hall  and 
out  of  the  house. 

It  was  the  opening  of  a  sullen  day.  Drizzling  rain  slanted 
from  heaven  to  earth,  with  fine,  almost  invisible,  persistence. 


256  Father  and  Son. 

He  had  reached  that  gently  rising  eminence  which  dominated 
so  much  of  the  country  round;  there,  panting  for  breath,  he 
paused  and  scanned  the  horizon  with  anxious,  peering  eye. 
Nothing  but  gray,  gray  sky  and  earth  on  every  side — not  a 
living  being  in  sight. 

And  yet,  "He  cannot  have  gone  far.  The  candle  has  only 
just  burned  out."  In  a  sort  of  despairing  anger  at  thus  realiz- 
ing in  waking  life  the  dread  desertion  of  his  dream,  Lewis 
called  out  the  words  aloud,  "He  must  be  stopped — he  must  be 
stopped  1" 

Again  he  turned  and  slowly  cast  a  straining  glance  around ; 
at  that  moment  a  ray  of  yellow  light  darted  between  great 
banks  of  clouds  in  the  east,  and  swept  more  warmly  over  part 
of  the  dull  field  of  view;  and  then,  across  the  gilded  path  of 
that  blessed  ray,  was  seen  a  dark  point,  slowly  moving. 

With  a  stifled  cry  of  triumph,  Lewis  sprang  in  pursuit, 
with  elbows  pressed  to  his  sides,  bounding  like  a  hound  over 
the  plain,  conscious  of  but  one  thing,  that  he  must  cover  the 
space  between  them  before  the  figure  disappeared. 

It  was  not  so  far — half  a  mile  at  most,  for  Fargus  had  had 
but  little  start.  And  yet,  in  rage  at  his  impotency,  upborne 
by  the  intensity  of  his  desire,  he  pressed  on,  on  still,  imtil  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  been  running  for  hours  already. 

He  had  gained  on  the  figure  markedly,  yet  now  it  seemed,  as 
it  swam  and  faded  before  his  startling  gaze,  to  be  steadily  in- 
creasing the  distance  between  them  once  more.  His  feet  were 
weighted  down  with  iron  weights,  the  cold  and  the  numbness 
were  reaching  his  knees ;  in  another  moment  he  knew  that  he 
would  fall,  and  that  his  father  would  silently,  fatally  continue 
on  his  way  and  disappear  forever.  He  stopped,  and  the  whole 
of  his  life  energy  was  thrown  into  a  wild,  appealing,  angry 
cry: 

"Halt !  for  Heaven's  sake,  halt !" 

The  call  was,  for  all  the  effort  it  represented,  but  a  feeble 
one,  but  it  reached  the  lonely  traveler  in  the  silence  of  the 
moorland.  He,  too,  came  abruptly  to  a  standstill,  as  if  it  had 
struck  him  like  a  shot,  and  then  turned  round,  looking  vaguely 
about  him.  Lewis  waved  his  arm  and  beheld,  as  it  were 
through  a  circling  mist,  how  the  figure  began  to  retrace  its 
steps  and  oome  toward  him,  first  slowly,  presently  at  a  run. 

For  e  moment  he  lost  consciousness,  all  was  dark  before 
him ;  but  the  next  minute  his  hands  were  grasped  with  a  warm, 
living,  strong  pressure  that  seemed  to  send  thrills  of  new  life 
to  his  heart,  to  fill  it  with  strange,  unwonted  comfort. 

He  looked  up  at  the  anxious,  white  face  bending  over  him — 
the  face  of  his  father ! 

Tears  welled  into  his  eyes  and  flowed  down  his  cheeks.    He 


Father  and  Son.  257 

did  not  know  it.  He  only  felt  intense  and  keen  relief  and 
inexpressible  comfort.  Then  he  found  himself  speaking  in 
hurried,  passionate  accents : 

"You  were  going ;  I,  too,  must  go ;  I  cannot  live  here.  We 
will  go  together.  There  can  be  no  home  for  us  here  now ;  but 
the  world  lies  wide  before  us.  Will  you  not  take  me  with 
you  and  remain  my  guide,  friend,  companion  ?  Afterward  we 
will  return  here — afterward,  when  we  can  come  back  to- 
gether." 

And  then,  receiving  no  reply,  looking  up  in  fear  to  meet  no 
compliance  in  the  loving  eyes,  which  were  so  sad  as  they 
looked  back  at  him,  as  sad  as  in  his  dream,  there  broke  forth  a 
cry  from  his  very  heart : 

"Father,  you  will  not  leave  me?    Father!'* 


The  gathering  sunlight  had  grown  upon  the  dull  day  and 
driven  the  mists  aside,  and  turned  the  drenching  wet  of  leaf 
and  grass-blade  to  a  tangle  of  diamond  and  gold.  Shoulder 
to  shoulder,  under  the  promise  of  a  glorious  noon,  went  father 
and  son  together  across  the  moorland,  on  their  way  out  into 
the  world. 


THE  END. 


(SB       c© 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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